


(Mystrade) The way to a man's heart is through his stomach (proverb)

by EllisBlackthorne, Flauschvieh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Domesticity (a lot of it), Established Relationship later, Feeding, First Dates, Food porn and Porn without food, Greg and Mycroft gay clubbing, Greg is a great dad and Mycroft has a poshy house, Lots of it, M/M, long fic, naked cooking, sex in the open (public toilet in a club)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:58:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllisBlackthorne/pseuds/EllisBlackthorne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flauschvieh/pseuds/Flauschvieh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade have been acquaintances for quite a long while now, brought together fussing over Sherlock and cleaning up his mess.  In fact they barely know the other from a sure distance until that one day they meet by chance  at lunch break in the park..<br/>(Mystrade, explicit)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epiloge

**Author's Note:**

> Finally I got this monster of a rp-fic uploaded. :) Its a roleplay we did a long while back then before season 3 even aired. All started as a casual RP chat on Omegle and turned out... well like this. It's too long to even find a beta for it apparently, so I'll look through things myself and upload more parts constantly... which can take some time. Will mark the work as completed when finished :) /which I probably manage at some point.. it's 120 fricking pages in Word, you feel me/
> 
> EDIT: IT'S FUCKING DONE!
> 
> I'll say sorry in advance for the usual mistake or spelling error, since there was no beta, but if you find anything during the read, feel free to point me (or poke me with a stick..)
> 
> I hope you enjoy long reads, fluffy foodporn, explicit SMUT scenes and a LOT of domesticty... If so, this is your read ;) enjoy.
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr: http://flauschvieh.tumblr.com/
> 
> Roles:  
> Greg Lestrade - Flauschvieh  
> Mycroft Holmes - EllisBlackthorne
> 
> THEME SONG: White Flag by Mayfield Four (http://val.fm/white-flag-the-mayfield-four-mp3/ )

__

_My guard fell for you today, now I will surrender_  
 _Take this prisoner, make him something better_  
 _Reach down and pull me up, don't let your captive go_

  
_'Cause love's wounds have made me weak_  
 _Can't stand up on my own_

_'Cause you bring me to my knees  
For you I'd do anything_

_\- White Flag (Mayfield Four)_

 

**~Prelude~**

Lestrade was sitting on a bench in the park in the rare sunlight and was having a bagel for lunch break. The weather is pretty nice for London conditions and he watches the people passing by, squinting against the sun as he takes a bite.

On a rare walk through the park, Mycroft enjoys the silence of not having Anthea's persistent texting and e-mail, and the chattering of his agents in his earpiece. He spots a familiar salt-and-pepper haired figure on a bench, and smirks to himself. Being acquaintances in a more friendly way with the inspector for a long time now..   so Mycroft strolls to the bench and leans on his umbrella casually. "Well, I say. They'll let anyone in this park these days, won't they?"

Lestrade grins and hardly looks up from his hand and the bagel, but then he does and tries to figure Mycroft’s silhouette against the bright light. "Well I'm hardly 'anyone'." He can’t help but grin a little and take another bite. "Anyway,  good day to you too."

Mycroft bows his head in a dramatic greeting. "A pleasure to be in the presence of one of Scotland Yard's finest." He gestures to the bench. "Is this seat taken?"

Lestrade is fighting a somewhat stupid joke coming to his mind and instead shakes his head. "Nah, the granny I was talking to just left... so I actually started to feel a bit lonely.” The Yard is just around the corner of the park and Lestrade usually spends his breaks here... Mycroft knows that all too well.

Mycroft sits on the bench with his legs crossed toward the detective inspector, his elbow draped over the back of the bench. "Well, then I happened along at just the right time. I was just having a break myself, between meetings and maintaining my low-level government official status."

Lestrade carefully bites back a grin about the low-level part and instead looks the other over. "Still on that diet?" When Mycrofts quirks an eyebrow at him, he shrugs and offers him the white-plastic-box containing his meal. "Have a bagel. Or if you prefer, I've got donuts or a left over energy bar. You need that stuff in the office sometimes.."

Mycroft has indeed been keeping to his diet and is trimming up quite nicely, if he says so himself. "Quite well, yes. Had to have four suits tailored this past week. I've lost two stone since I started. And I've just had a bit of lunch, but thank you for offering."

Lestrade nods and almost had he slipped out a ‘Yea you look it’ about the weight-loosing. But the other looks fit actually and Lestrade shrugs again, keeping the bagels and stuff to himself. "Well, I'm fighting fit.. at least hope so. Just can't get enough of this delicious stuff."

Mycroft watches the silver fox out of the corner of his eye as he pretends to watch passers-by. "Bagels and the lot I can live without. Present me with a handcrafted cupcake and I'll wage war on NATO in alphabetical order to get at it… My rotten brother knows this and has had one sent to my office every week since I began this journey, the little shit."

At this, Lestrade barks a laugh and almost drops his beloved bagel to the ground. His eyes glow with amusement as he takes the last bite and closes the box to keep the rest for after his work shift. "I can SO imagine Sherlock doing that, haha. Never guessed the rumors about you and cake were true... well, actually I prefer cooking, but the job leaves me little time for that."

Mycroft smiles at Lestrade's amusement. "Yes, the rumors are shamefully true. Cake and I have a long and tumultuous relationship. Sherlock exploits that whenever possible." He takes a moment to watch Lestrade put his food away before giving his signature enigmatic smile. "A lawman and a chef. Why are you single, Detective Inspector?" He shifts, turning his whole body more to face the DI.  
"I am shamefully out of my depth in a kitchen setting. Consummation, I am quite skilled at, but preparation usually ends in disaster."

Lestrade grimaces but this time it is not really because of the sun. He looks at his hand holding the box for a moment then he turns to face Mycroft again. "Well you know.. with the divorce so recently.. I don’t know, just didn't feel much like throwing myself into the arms of, well ehm, someone lately." He tries a grin but it comes out a bit awry. "Maybe I got wary about this stuff, I really don’t know. Maybe just need some time." He pauses, suddenly feeling a bit dumb like he's already talked too much irrelevant shit Instead he says "I make an exquisite quiche" without any real context - and then bites his lip.

Mycroft gives himself a mental slap; He'd forgotten about the divorce. "I'm sorry, Gregory. That was too soon, and completely inappropriate." Mycroft reaches out and rests a hand on the man's shoulder. "Take all the time you need. The right person will be there waiting when you're ready."  
Then he gives a kind smile, jumping on the next band wagon. "Tell me more about this quiche."

Lestrade scratches the back of his head audibly like he tends to do quite often. "Nah It's okay,  the divorce I mean. Kind of.. gotten over it." He eyes Mycroft’s face and can't help but smile back, feeling a bit lighter in his chest all of a sudden.  He really liked Mycroft in way, even if he was as difficult to deal with as his little brother. But somehow the other’s opinion on things mattered to him. "So what to tell you about my quiche?" He chuckles. "Want me to describe the process of making it or the colours? I guess tasting it for yourself would be the better way."

Mycroft gives him an easy smile and moves his hand from the DI's shoulder, letting it slip down between his shoulder blades instead. "Whatever you want to tell me. What's in it? What makes it special? And if you happen to be planning on making some, I would enjoy the opportunity to sample it..."

Lestrade feels himself flush, which is actually a bit not good since they are sitting in a damn park in the bright midday and he tries very hard not to think about it. But somehow Mycroft's hand is a comfortable weight and he sinks to it a bit, mumbling random shit about eggs, milk, onions and spinach.. Like everything he can recall at the moment for a quiche, with Mycroft being that close.

Mycroft listens along but he can hear the choked tone of Lestrade's voice so he lifts his hand. "Sorry. Not sure what got into me, there. I could lie and say I spotted Sherlock across the park and wanted to mess with him, but the truth is you've got lovely shoulders and I just wanted to find out what it was like to feel the muscles there for a moment."

Lestrade notices that his face is practically burning now but he covers it with a hearty laugh. "It's okay. Just .. caught me a bit off guard", he admits, watching Mycroft close before he shakes his head a little. "Actually you're the first who says that to me. Never thought about them shoulders much. I just.. happen to have them like that." A little voice in the back of his head tells him to shut up and not to say any more rubbish, but too late anyway. And a second voice congrats him on the decision to work out more after work shift.

"Well, that's a shame. They look strong and sturdy, though I suppose they'd have to be, given your job." Mycroft shrugs. "Anyway, I'm prone to odd little spontaneous bursts of curiosity that way."

Lestrade finds himself saying "It's okay" for the third time but doesn't bother so much because it actually is. He grins at the other man and empties his cup of coffee before he gets up, a bit unsteady though. "Well I.. gotta go now, my break's almost over and there is a darn  pile of files sitting on my desk that need attention. But I guess you know ‘bout this stuff.. so see you around?" He can't help the slightly hopeful tone in his voice.

Mycroft stands gracefully and bows his head again. "It's been a pleasure spending time with you, Detective Inspector. Perhaps one day we'll find the time in our busy diaries to do this again. Or, perhaps one evening over quiche. You make dinner, and I'll provide the drinks. Say, a 30 year old Macallan?"

Lestrade would not actually call himself an expert when it comes to drinks but Macallan rings a bell and he beams at Mycroft.. a bit. "Absolutely would appreciate that." He wants to add 'how about next weekend?' but he doesn't.  
Instead the DI makes a habit out of spending his break every day now at this one specific bench but Mycroft doesn't show up again. Thoug,h by the end of the week a strange packet arrives at Mycroft's office. When he unpacks it he finds inside, neatly wrapped in several layers an apparently home-made cupcake and a short letter with a fleeting handwriting saying 'not Sherlock, hope you like anyways'.

That afternoon, Mycroft appears at the bench again. "You sneaky rascal," he says without preamble, approaching Lestrade.

Lestrade acts as if he hasn't got a clue what Mycroft could be referring to.. But when the other sits he can't help but grin to himself. "Sorry for interrupting your diet..."

"Some things are worth cheating for." Mycroft sits on the bench without asking, crossing his legs toward Lestrade again. "And that was one magnificent reason to cheat on my diet. Thank you," he says, resting his hand on Lestrade's shoulder.

Lestrade feels himself reminded of their first meeting but he doubts that Mycroft's about to let his hand slip so carelessly again… And strangely he feels a slight pity for that. "Old recipe of mine, from my grandma. Glad you liked."

Mycroft nods to that. "If that cupcake is any indication, we simply must schedule dinner with quiche and good scotch soon." He says with a smile, catching the inspector in surprise there.

"Ah" is all what Lestrade is capable of saying at first and he blinks, but then his eyebrows rise. "Really? You mean it?"  
And this time, he really asks Mycroft out for the next weekend..

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

So the next weekend, Mycroft appears at the door to Lestrade's flat, with a £400 bottle of scotch in his hands, dressed far more casually - a tee shirt and jeans replacing his smartly tailored suit.

Fortunately Lestrade has no idea of the actual worth of the damn bottle, otherwise he probably wouldn't touch it at all but this way he is far too busy staring at Mycroft in a dumb manner as the other appears in the doorframe of his small single-flat. "Heyo" is all he can think of as a greeting.

"Shocked? Yes, I am capable of wearing something other than a tailored suit." Mycroft smirks and invites himself inside the bachelor flat. "It's a rare day that I get to dress down. I quite like it, actually."

'I think I do, too' Lestrade adds mentally but he steps back to make room for the other. "Nah”, he huffs, shocked is really not the right word to put it, "just didn't expect it. That's all." The detective grins. “But I'll try to get used to it."  
He waits for Mycroft to take his (bloody expensive looking) shoes off, before leading him into the small living room which is directly connected to the even smaller kitchen. But as small as it might be, Lestrade's well equipped there and rather proud of that. When he moved out of the house he had been living in with his ex-wife he actually had taken the whole kitchen stuff with him.. but barely anything else.

The living room contains a somewhat small black leather sofa, used and with several marks on it, a fitting arm chair opposite and a table in front of it. There’s a telly with an impressive DVD and rock music collection beside the HIFI system and last but no least a photograph sitting on the top of a small shelf, apparently showing Lestrade's two kids. Though there is no woman in that picture, it seems like she's gotten cut out- but the DI had the rest of the photograph framed neatly.

Mycroft had his trainers toed off at the door and paded into the sitting room in his socks.  
He has a look round as he sets the bottle of scotch on the bar top. It's cozy, and decidedly masculine, very modern, and it just feels like it belongs to Lestrade. Mycroft sees the photograph of the children and walks over to it, touching the frame reverently. Then he turns his head and smiles at his friend. "Quite the nice little bachelor's pad you've set up here, Gregory. I'm impressed."

Lestrade scratches the back of his neck and watches Mycroft with the photograph for a moment. "Yea I guess. After Susan practically kicked me out cuz' she wanted to keep the bloody house for herself and the kids, I haven't had much of a choice. But this is quite the place, I like it."  
It shows that the man has been living alone for a while now and hasn't got any visitors recently, especially women.  
But he tries his best as a host and returns with too glasses from the kitchen, handing on to Mycroft. "I assume you're hungry? I better kick myself to the kitchen then, get things started."

Mycroft had frowned as Greg had talked of his ex and what sounds like a bitter separation. "I am sorry for what you've been through. You seem to handle it well enough, though I can't say I'm familiar with the concept of marriage and divorce so I've got no frame of reference." Having never been married, especially not to a woman, he can't relate, but he can sympathize. "It is a messy thing, though, ending a relationship. But, at the risk of sounding cliché, new beginnings come from the end of old beginnings."

He gives another smile to Greg as he takes the offered glass. "Don't fret about dinner. I'm in no rush; My time is yours tonight." In truth, he was quite interested in seeing Greg Lestrade make his way around a kitchen, but he didn't want to rush the evening atall. He'd completely cleared his diary, told Anthea in no uncertain terms that he was not to be bothered, and then conveniently 'forgot' his mobile in his jacket, which he'd left in the car. He was prepared to relax and enjoy himself and spend some quality time with Greg, getting to know him beyond the badge and what his government casefile says about him.

Lestrade listens with a half-hearted smile while he lets Mycroft pour them some of the delicate scotch - a good sip, but not enough to make them slightly drunk, so Lestrade will be able to have a steady hand and a concentrated eye on the cooktop later.  
Mycroft's words sink in and Lestrade is a bit astonished by the other man's understanding.. especially over his confession about marriage.  
Lestrade wonders about the ring Mycroft's wearing, clearly on the place a wedding band would sit, but then realizes that, due to his position in the government, Mycroft is probably wearing it for the same reasons Lestrade used to wear her: to protect himself from questions and significant looks which a man in their age gets all so easily..

He takes his gaze away from Mycrofts hands, the long fingers holding the glass elegantly and makes for the other room.  
"Nah I really don't mind. Actually I'm pretty eager for your opinion ‘bout my stuff, I can't wait with the cooking. And since you liked ma cupcake so much..." His grin is broad, nearly biting his ears and he takes a last sip before he disappears into the kitchen - though still visible for the other.  
As soon as Lestrade is standing in front of his equipment, his sleeves rolled up carefully, he seems so professional and confident in what he is doing as he begins to wash and cut the vegetables carefully, heat the plates and prepares everything else he needs to create a proper dinner for two persons. Lestrade is aware that Mycroft is possibly watching him through it, but he is trained.. and something about that thought also makes him jump in enthusiasm even more.

 Mycroft pours them both a gentle finger of scotch and tips his glass in a brief toast to their friendship. He can't help but notice Greg studying his hands, and realizes he's still wearing his ring, which sits where a traditional wedding band might. He follows Greg to the kitchen and leans against the door frame, sipping at his scotch and watching the DI prepare for action. "I'm enthusiastic to see you in action, if I'm being honest, and after that cupcake I think I'd be willing to give away highly protected government secrets to try some more of what you can make." He gives a smile and switches his glass to his other hand, looking down at his left hand and the band that sits there.

"This was my father's. He passed when Sherlock was just a toddler, so he has no memory of our father. I was close with him, though, and Mummy insisted I take the ring to remember him by." He twirls the ring on his finger.

"It's handy, because it keeps me from being questioned about my marital status. Everything about my life is guarded information because of the station I hold in government; Those that don't know me commonly hear that I'm a widower, but the story stops there." He takes the ring off and tucks it into his pocket, then goes back to watching Greg. He's fascinated watching the slender fingers and strong forearms work the kitchen knife, chopping fresh veg and cheese and meats to go into the savoury pie. Here in this intimate setting, he feels comfortable, as if he can say anything and the moment his mental filter shuts off, he regrets it.

"The truth is I've never been married, and if I were it wouldn't have been to a woman." He gives himself a mental slap; Here he is, in Lestrade's home, ink barely dry on the poor DI's divorce papers, and Mycroft is coming out to him.

"I'm sorry, that was incredibly rude of me to say. I must sound like... Well, I don't know what I sound like. I feel like a fool. Forgive me. I hope my... preference... doesn't bother you." To shut himself up, Mycroft tips his glass and knocks back the remaining dregs of his drink, letting the warm, sweet alcohol settle on his tongue for a moment before swallowing and exhaling.

Lestrade is obviously in his element (second to his job in the Yard, chasing criminals and fussing over Sherlock) the moment he has picked up the kitchen knife. He is wearing a plain, grey apron for cooking and he can see Mycroft seeing it with amusement, but the truth is he doesn't mind really and so seems Mycroft.  
He starts with the onions, the egg, ham and stuff and puts it all carefully but nimbly into the pan sitting on the plate, already heated up. He likes cooking, he really does and so he did it a lot back in the days when he was still with his wife and the kid under the same roof.

But now things are different and to be honest with himself he really missed cooking for someone. Eating the stuff you did all by yourself is a cheerless business and thats basically the reason why he had started to hang around snack bars after his shift most of the time.

But now Mycroft is there and Lestrade tries his best as a man to succeed in multitasking, cooking and listening to the other. And it works. To this extend where Mycroft gets really personal and Lestrade kind of likes it even if his hands shake for a short moment in his work, his head turns slightly to the side but he pulls himself together with effort and snorts instead.

"Stop talking rubbish. That wasn't neither rude nor .. foolish and I don't feel actually bothered much from your, er, statement." He chuckles but focuses on cutting the leek. "Good to know, though", he mumbles, quite incoherenty like to himself and works on.  
Lestrade had always liked both, to be honest. Even if he had settled with his (ex)wife for some years and they had children, in his youth he had tried out a lot. And for being awfully shy with girls when he was a youngster his first experiences had been mostly with men.

Lestrade can't help but grin to himself a little.  
One can't label someone from the tip of one's nose so it has surely some appeal to find things out yourself. Sherlock's and John's kind of a relationship for good example. Lestrade was the one that told Anderson to shut the fuck up when things came to the surface... and now he's here with the older Holmes brother and maybe it's ridiculous but Mycroft's words actually made something in his stomach flutter. Hell knows where that came from..

"I figured that much, about your ring, I mean. I have kept mine also... though I don't wear it anymore. It's in the drawer in the other room. Couldn't bringt myself to get rid of it. Stupid, I know."  
Sentiment, he knows. And Mycroft guesses it, he's sure.

Mycroft smiles and lets out an audible breath of relief. He found himself intrigued by - and, if he was being honest with himself, more than a little attracted to - the detective inspector, and did not want to scare him off before they even had a chance to sort out what kind of friendship they were destined for. A warm feeling bubbled up in his chest, hope and relief and thanks for Greg's understanding and casual brush-off of Mycroft's fear and embarrassment.

"Thank God," he whispers to himself. "Thank you for your understanding, Gregory. The British government may have accepted homosexuals in society, but they're a Puritanical lot that much prefer to keep us under wraps when we work for them. I don't often feel comfortable enough with someone to tell them about me.

And yet, here we are." He twirls his ring around his finger a few more times before slipping it off and stuffing it in his pocket. There's no need for him to wear a disguise tonight. He can just be himself, for once in a long time. "My brother may disagree, but I find it helps sometimes to hold on to a small trinket of your past, at least until something or someone comes along that can fills in the missing piece." He smiles at the other man and watches for a few minutes in awe of the smooth, practised movements, amazed how Greg can multi task. "You're quite a natural. All this conversation and you've barely broken your stride. "

 While Mycroft spoke, Lestrade had finally turned his head torwards him and been watching closely. The stuff in front of him on the kitchen table actually needs a lot of attention at the moment but Lestrade can't bring himself to let Mycroft tell himself something like that to his backside.

He smiles and there is a short glimps that tells the other that Lestrade actually would prefer for them to have this conversation in a better moment when he's not wearing a ridiculous apron and is not having his hand full in butter paste. When he can sit with him and look him in the face while thinking of a good reply to Mycrofts serious words.  
And Lestrade wants to give him one, feels like he owes him for being so honest and straight foreward but there is a quiche to be done and he wants Mycroft to taste (and actuall like it...) as much as he wants to talk to him.

"I'd say years of practice. It's the same in the Yard as it is in the kitchen, loosing head won't help anyone" he inhales and shrugs with a genuine smile "and it takes quite something to throw me, really. Sgt. Donovan just recently referred to me as 'the rock', guess somebody just has to keep a clear head if people freak out around you."  
Yea, he was implying the government when speaking about freaking over something that was actually ridiculous to give a damn fuck about. People just.. were like they were and Lestrade always has thought that a good thing.

The D.I gives Mycroft a last cheery smile and turnes back to his work - despite his words his heart beating slightly faster.

Mycroft decided to make himself useful and insisted on setting the table, which put him in inadvertently (but pleasantly) close proximity to Greg a few times as he was instructed where everything was located. Acquiring plates required him to stand behind Greg and reach over his left shoulder. Forks and knives were in the drawer at his hip. Drinking glasses were clear on the other side of the narrow kitchen and required Mycroft to brush behind Greg twice.

With the table finally set, Mycroft resumed his chosen spot, leaning against the doorframe with another splash of scotch to, keep his hands busy. He sets his scotch tumbler on the bar topclaps, then claps his hands and rubs them together, eager to sample the delicious-smelling savory pie.

"You're remarkable," he says finally. "I simply can not wait to tuck into this."

Lestrade tries very hard not to think about that short moment, when Mycroft accidentally had touched his side to make him move a bit, so he could get the forks and knifes and stuff out. Not unpleasant at all but strangely irritating because he isn't used to touches very much lately (after the divorce) and this is Sherlocks brother - for christ's sake - so theoretically spoken his boss in the Yard.

But Lestrade has already decided to let things just flow this evening, to have a nice dinner with just Mycroft and that's it. After all he's just a man not actually responsible for any physical reaction or mental thoughts he might have given to the touch.

It took some time but finally the quiche was ready, smelling quite nicely and with a golden top and Lestrade got the steaming thing out of the oven with a pleased hum after he'd check it with a small stick.  
"Dinner's ready!" he announced with a somewhat raised voice, like he used to bark that through a large house to every of its residents to be heard.

Eventually he balances the savory pie expertly to the already laid table and puts it down with a soft thud. He recognizes the neatly arrangement in which Mycroft had put the dishes there. It looks disturbingly perfect and almost measured and Lestrade wonders if there is anything in the world Mycroft's actually not good at... Maybe he's going to ask later.. or rather he won't.

They sit and Lestrade finds himself smiling expectantly but also bloody nervous when they have their first bites. "OK so let's dive in" he grins and rolles his sleeves again up a bit more.

 Mycroft settles in his seat and carves out a slice of pie, offering it to Greg before serving himself a slice. The scent is positively heavenly and Mycroft takes a moment to just inhale the delightful aroma.

Finally, he lifts his fork to his mouth and takes that first bite and as the explosion of flavor hits his tongue he rolls his eyes and smiles and groans in joy. "OH..... Oh, Gregory, this is... this is sublime. Simply delicious." He goes in for another bite and another, each mouthful earning Greg another chorus of happy sounds from the normally very in-control government agent.

Lestrade can't help but chuckle around his mouth full of pie and watch the other closely. He's not an expert in reading people's expressions and behaviour like Sherlock but he can tell if someone is just playing nicely with him or is actual enjoying himself.  
And he is glad, Mycroft likes his meal. Really is. Maybe he should be sorry for the other man's diet but he isn't. Mycroft in his eyes is perfectly fit and slender which plays quite nicely with his height.  
Mycroft is tall, even a bit more than Sherlock - and Lestrade likes tall.

"Haha now you're showering me with praise. I dunno what to do with that, really. Going to choke on my bite here." He laughs and it's relieving, honest.

"I'd like to ask if you're in for a dessert after his but don't want to mess with your diet too much." And they still have the scotch...

  
They eat and as expected is Lestrade the kind of bloke that likes seconds.. more than once. But then again he's trained and needs the energy supply from somewhere.

"Oh, sod the diet," Mycroft says with a grin as he tucks into his own second helping. "I'll hit the gym extra-hard this week."

He chews happily at his food for a few minutes. "I'm not the sort of man to hand out praise freely. So just accept it." Mycroft reaches across the table and rests his hand over Greg's a moment. It's just the slightest brush of finger tips, a gesture to show his sincerity. "This is exquisite, and I am truly thankful that you invited me over." He grins. "And while I don't want you going to any extra trouble on my behalf, I would be remiss if I turned down a dessert that you'd already prepared."

Lestrade feels his skin prickle slightly under that touch and wonders when he became so fucking sensitive. Usually he isn't.  
But he isn't looking there because Mycroft's still speaking to him and so he lifts his head instead, only to end up staring at the other man's mouth for a couple of seconds.  
Bugger.

Lestrade gives himself a mental kick in the butt and says something about Crème brûlée and admits to have it already prepared this morning.. just in case..

"Or you more like in for fruits? Dunno.. less heavy I guess. I've got some strawberries that I could mix with cream."  
What the hell is he trying to do here? Feed Mycroft up?

Some clever lad in the Yard once told them that cooking is similar to caring. Maybe that answers the question quite good.  
He leans back with a little groan and takes a long sip from his glas. The cool drink is clearing his mind a bit.

Mycroft smiles at Greg; The Silver Fox, as Mycroft had begun to call him in his own head not long after they had first met, resembled more of a pup with his eagerness to please, and Mycroft finds it to be rather charming.

"Whatever you have that's readily available is perfectly fine, Gregory. As I've said, I don't want you going to any additional trouble over me."

He schools his expression into a neutral one, so as not to show the flutter of disappointment he feels when Greg's hand slips away from his, but he is rewarded with an unobstructed view of the contours of the inspector’s chest and abdomen under his shirt as Greg stretches. He can't help but flash a half-grin of appreciation.

 Lestrade waves his hand dismissively and bites back a really amused grin. "Stop talking about trouble. There isn't any. Maybe I just like fussing over you in a way. I really can't say why, but cooking for you is quite.. fun. You're my guest and I like to treat you like that."  
They look at each other for a moment and if Mycroft knows something about the D.I. then that he's always honest with what he says.  
Lestrade had never thought about how easy or difficult it could be to please Mycroft Holmes but it seems that with cooking he got himself a point. And somehow that pleases himself.

They finish the pie until even Lestrade feels stuffed like a christmas goose and he keeps Mycroft from eating the last piece on the plate just in order to be polite. "You needn't" he mumbles and then actually is winking at the other.  
Lestrade can see Mycroft's fine eyebrow rise but he pretends not to notice any of that and instead stands with a pleased groan in order to bring the stuff back to the kitchen sink.

The plates go into the dish washer and Lestrade decides not to bring the dessert just now. A break will do them well, especially their stomaches and this way he will be able to serve Mycroft the cream a later time.

Mycroft had thoroughly enjoyed dinner, though the food was only a fraction of his joy. Greg had been honest and sincere when he said he enjoyed fussing over him, and if he was honest, he quite enjoyed Greg fussing over him. It was all curiously domestic, but comfortable and something Mycroft decided he would like to have more of in his life. That was all before Greg had winked at him. Winked. It caused a curious twist in Mycroft's chest that lingered pleasantly; Instead of melting or giggling or any other childish response, he had chosen to offer a curious and amused expression instead.

Once finished with dinner, Mycroft offered to help with dishes, but gave up when he was shooed out of the kitchen by Greg wielding a teatowel. Chuckling, he put his hands up in surrender and went to the living room, sinking into the corner of the small couch, crossing his legs comfortably, arm draped across the back of the couch, the other rested on the arm rest, chin propped on his fist. He's the picture of ease and contentment, with his full belly and gentle warmth of the scotch in his veins.

Mycroft watches the Silver Fox cross the room after sorting out the dishes, and stole a clandestine glance at the broad shoulders, slim waist, toned backside, and athletic legs as Greg had his back turned. He chided himself halfheartedly for ogling, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't attracted - moreso over the course of the evening.

When Lestrade returns to the livingroom his steps lead straight to the music player beside the stuffed shelf and he chooses one of his favorite rock albums. A short time after a soft but rhythmic tune is floating through the flat and Lestrade excuses himself for a moment to the bath room not before waving around and at the sofa.

"Make youself comfortable. I'll be in a minute."  
He needs to freshen himself up a bit..

Mycroft gives Greg a smile and affirmative nod and closes his eyes, letting the music take him. He loses himself in the low bass and smooth guitar, tapping his foot in rhythm until his friend returns.

 Meanwhile Lestrade all but rushes to the bath room, closes the door behind him and takes a deep breath.. sorting his thoughts. Okay, that went well so far he would admit. Mycroft is sitting on his couch, apparently pleased, listening to his music and he even had enjoyed his dinner.

Lestrade recalls the very last time he had had a guest in his house. A woman to be more precise.  
It was shortly after the divorce... things were a complete mess - at least in Lestrade's drunken brain - and he had met this girl in a bar.  
To cut a long story short she didn't like his music.. and the next morning she also seemed to doesn't like his drinking. At least the dinner was okay - she had told him so before slamming the door in his face. And that was that.  
Lestrade had seen the big mistake afterwards and calling himself an ignorant sod he got very wary to host someone since then.

But with Mycroft it was... he was.. sincere and there was that kind of chemistry Lestrade wouldn't try to deny even though, he doesn’t consider himself that emphatic.

The detective inspector steps in front of the mirror and lets the water running, watching himself for a minute in the reflection. Then he splashes two hand full of the cold water into his face and starts a bit of a catlick.  
When he is done Lestrade hesistates for one moment before putting a bit of cologne on. He quite likes that odor, it's fresh and a bit herbal .. and hopefully not too intrusive (and won't give him away too much, but he can take the risk.)

When he finally returns to the living room he has changed to a fresh grey-blue up-bottomed shirt and is still wearing his casual well-worn blue jeans.

Lestrade remains quiet but is anyway too busy staring at the other.. and even if Mycroft had probably heard him, he still is sitting there with his eyes closed and legs crossed elegantly like no other man could probably sit comfortably for a longer range of time. And so Lestrade can't help but gape at the perfect picture the other is giving in the dim room on the black sofa, just listening to the music.  
'Only thing missing is a bloody fireside. Maybe I should get myself...'  
Lestrade mentally slaps himself and finally strolls over to the couch and stands in front of Mycroft, wearing a sly almost mischievous grin. "Everything fine?"

In the time since Greg had dashed out of the room, Mycroft had lifted his hand and waved it slowly as if conducting an orchestra, moving his fingers along with the rhythms and crescendos of the music. The dim light of the room, the cool softness of the couch, and the warm dulcet tones of the smooth rock music had lulled him into a comfortable daze. He'd been having a lovely evening so far; Delicious food, fantastic scotch, small touches and smiles and loaded statements and it left him feeling a bit intoxicated, but not from the drink.

It was all Greg, he would admit to himself. The man was a wonder; Kind and generous and charming, a maverick in the kitchen, and a handsome bloke to boot, and Mycroft found himself on a slippery slope; He had hope that Greg might possibly feel similarly, but was also well-aware that he might be reading far too much into a a dinner between friends.

He could hear Greg re-enter the room, but chose to act oblivious to his presence, continuing to move his fingers along with the music until Greg speaks. In the time between his re-entry and his words, the gentle fragrance of his freshly-applied cologne catches his nose and it adds to his emotional intoxication. The sound of his voice brings Mycroft out of his musical trance and he opens his eyes and casts a lazy smile over his shoulder.

"Everything's delightful, Gregory. This music is hypnotic." He hums a few notes before speaking again. "I haven't been this relaxed in decades, it would seem. I can't thank you enough for having me over.. You've been a wonderful host so far."

Lestrade can do nothing but grin over all the praise which Mycroft is presenting him with and can't help but feeling a bit pleased with himself. Then he lets himself dropping down on the other far side of the couch with a comfortable groan.

"That one is one of my favorite" He nods toward the sound system. "I like the drums a lot there, besides the freaking the e-guitar. Wanted to try that myself sometime, you know, putting myself behind a drum kit and just have a go until people go me mad at me and probably throw some dirty underwear... or stuff." He pauses then clears his throat.

Great he didn't just tell Mycroft that he would fancy someone tossing his boxers or her bra on him, did he?  
Lestrade decides that he definitely might need some more scotch now and reaches for the bottle to pour them both a fine glass.

Mycroft tries to imagine him sitting behind a drum kit and the idea is amusing and appealing all at once. The idea of people chucking their undergarments at concerts was a foreign concept to Mycroft, but in the context of the conversation he laughs at the mental image of Greg Lestrade, the Rock of Scotland Yard, behind a drum kit hammering out rhythm like a madman when a pair of boxers hits him in the face.

After a proper laugh, Mycroft settles himself down and accepts the glass of scotch, sipping it thoughtfully as they descend into companionable silence. He glances around the room and occasionally steals glances at his host.

Lestrade is very grateful for the little break, while they're both having a drink and keep silent. This way he can filethe picture of a laughing Mycroft accurately in his brain and he definitely wants to do that, because the other in a full burst of laugher caught him completely off guard, was so damn appealing and he wants to keep that picture carefully in his memory.

  
It is said that people who rarely laugh are rather unpleasant in handling and attempting to approach them is often somewhat awkward.  
One could think that of Mycroft Holmes, but Lestrade knows better. Not just since this hearty laugher but also before...  
Laughing Mycroft's got soft crinkles around his eyes and a neatly bent neck and spine, even if the rest of his body stays the same elegant straightness. Lestrade likes it. A lot.

It's relaxing and really comfortable to sit here with Mycroft, even if Lestrade isn't fairly sure what to do with his hands, so he hold his glass in a firm grip and lets the other fall idly into his lap. Okay actually relaxing isn't just the right word to put it now... the way Lestrade is aware that the other is watching him, causes a tickling sensation on his neck. So he looks around, his eyes searching for a clue, something they could talk about... something of interest, he hopes.

And then he spots his fan collection of Arsenal stuffed between the other DVDs on the shelf and wonders if Mycroft is probably in for sports. He doesn't look like it, though, to be honest, but Lestrade tries.  
Turning a bit in his direction he tries to sound casual. "How d'you feel about football?"

The sound of Gregs voice draws Mycroft's attention immediately, meeting his friend with an attentive smile. "Football... Well, I'm rubbish at identifying teams, don't root for anyone in particular, but I enjoy watching the sport. You're quite the footballer, aren't you? I remember overhearing some of the lads at the Yard during a visit saying you were quite brilliant, actually."

It doesn't escape Mycroft's attention that Greg has turned himself to face him a bit more, their legs crossed toward each other in mirrored positions. The only difference being Greg propping his head on his hand, his elbow rested on the back of the couch, where Mycroft sat a bit straighter, with his arm draped along the back of the couch, almost appearing to reach for the detective. Mycroft's long, elegant fingers toy with the seam of a leather-bound couch cushion as he describes his Scotland Yard eavesdrop.

When Mycroft answers his question concerning football, Lestrade nods. He had guessed that much and is not going to pick on the other for his lack of technical knowledge. He is interested and that's really all that matters. Lestrade grins, maybe a bit too proud again, and takes another sip. "Yea, beside watching I actually love to kick the ball around and have a good run after it with a couple of good mates. It's nothing professional but we usually have a lot of fun. John plays also, did you know? Although I guess he prefers rugby" his grins widens with the next statement "which I used to play too. It's a hell of a game if you don't have the broad shoulder for it.. though, no such problem on my side ever."  
Wait.. what. Is he showing off now? Actually he might be.

Lestrade chuckles to himself and nips at his scotch. Slowly he is feeling the alcohol in his veins, but he doesn't care and turns a bit more toward Mycroft, looking into his eyes straight for a maybe too long moment.  
"I'm glad you came over today, really am..", he says, his words half a mumble.

Mycroft hasn't been filled with such mirth in ages, it seems. He's laughed and smiled so much his face and sides are beginning to ache - in a very pleasant way. Even now, he grins and delights in watching Greg talk about his passion for football. He's got the build for it -rugby too, he supposes, but definitely football. He was showing off a bit, especially when he'd turned to show off his shoulders, and it was all at once charming and amusing and very, very attractive.

Mycroft gives Greg an enigmatic little smile as the handsome detective turns to face him even more, positioning himself so that he sits sideways on the couch with one leg bent under him. Mycroft turns himself a bit more, leaving his legs crossed toward Greg. With the angle he sits, his foot's quite close to the other’s knee, and on the small couch, Mycroft's fingers are quite close to Greg's elbow. Close enough that when the detective inspector mentions his joy at Mycroft coming over, Mycroft closes the gap and lets his fingers stroke the inside of Greg's elbow.

“I'm glad I came over, too. Quite glad. You're good company, Gregory. If I'm honest, I'd love to do it again sometime soon." He sits forward to set his glass on the low table, his fingers never breaking contact with Greg's arm.

"Yea.." is all, Lestrade can manage right now. He stares at Mycroft's hand, not the one with the glass but the other, with an almost startled expression. Then he realizes, that he was actually holding his breath for some seconds now and tries to exhale not too audible. The D.I tries to think, very hard, but he finds himself unable for any clear thoughts except 'Greg no freakin' out now. Common, go for it..'  
And so he does.

Mycroft is probably watching him, as he is watching the smooth movement of the slender fingers caressing his elbow, as if he just discovered something totally new and unexpected.  
Then Lestrade straightens his arm and reaches out of the other. At first it's nothing more than a soft dip with his fingertips, caressing tentatively the pale skin of Mycroft's back of hand and tracing the fine hair a bit along his lower arm. It's lighter, than his own, of course it is, and a brownish red.

Lestrade finds that pretty appealing even though he already know from Mycroft's hair. Though he has never had or touched a redhead before, the thought strikes him with even more attractive interest.  
His fingers wander with more confidence until he strokes properly. Mycroft had given him that moment and didn't move himself, but now he does again and Lestrade answers the caressing, let their fingers play a while, until he turns his hand, so Mycroft can fondle the sensitive skin on the inside and then he closes his fingers, takes Mycroft's hand gently in his and finally dares to look him in the face.

Mycroft wanted to give Lestrade plenty of room to back away if he so chose, but he definitely wanted to be able to touch the man. He was pleasantly surprised when he felt and saw the inspector's hands and fingers begin to explore his hand and forearm.

Mycroft's heart began to hammer in his chest and as he watched Greg's fingertips glide up over his wrist to his forearm and back down across his thrumming pulse to his palm, Mycroft shivered slightly and swallowed thickly.

Once their hands met, Mycroft's eyes close a moment and he smiles a peaceful little smile. Greg's actions - his curiosity, his touch, the way the calloused pads of his fingers feel on his sensitive forearm - all make Mycroft very happy and relaxed and he'd never admit to it but a small sound of pleasure escapes him, which is veiled only slightly by the rock music still piping into the room.

"That feels lovely," Mycroft mumbles as their palms slide together, hands joining. His eyes open and he looks at Greg as the inspector's eyes fall on his, his thumb stroking against Greg's.

All Lestrade can do is hum in agreement. It’s a low, deep sound coming from within his chest with what can be nothing else than attraction for the other.

The D.I stretched leg has already made contact with Mycroft's resting on the floor and their ankles are touching in a purposefully way.  
It's like Lestrade has passed an inner barrier and grows more and more certain and steady in what he wants and what he's doing right now.

Their hands are still connected, as he slips a little closer to the other on the small sofa, not losing the eye contact, now when Mycroft is finally looking at him.  
Lestrade wonders about his eye colour.. is it the same odd fusion of gray and blue and green Sherlock has got, or something more subtle? He really wants to know, but for this he has go get closer, and so he does.  
Mycroft is not backing away - thankfully - and Lestrade takes his first actual close look at the other man's face. Beside his eyes he can spot so many things now, details, Lestrade is completely fascinated for the moment.

There are freckles on the top of Mycroft's cheeks, actual freckles, likely ever person with red hair got, but on Mycroft they're hardly visible.. only from very close. Just as if the man has tried to conceal them .. with make up?

Lestrade blinks and let's his gaze travel further, from the distinct line of his jaw up to his eyes again, the hair and then back to the slender neck.  
The detective inspector swallows, last place to where his eyes travel are Mycroft's lips, the thin but curved line that draws his attention all of a sudden.  
But he doesn't dare. Not yet.  
Last thing he wants is so scare the other away. Lestrade's got very bad experience with rushing things.. and he feels this is important, Mycroft is important. So he squeezes his hand gently, understanding but also encouraging a bit.

Mycroft is a bit flushed under Greg's intense gaze. He holds the inspectors fingers, slipping his fingers between Greg's after a few minutes and when their gaze breaks for Greg to visually inspect the rest of him, Mycroft closes his eyes and swallows. He's never been gazed at so closely and he can feel Greg's eyes on him and it makes his heart skitter pleasantly.

Being a ginger, he developed freckles at a very early age, and he was teased constantly about them, along with his ever-fluctuating weight. As such, he developed some vain tendencies in life - wearing tailored suits that flattered his figure, and keeping his freckles mostly covered under concealer, chief among them. No one, not even men he had been intimate with, had ever looked at his face so closely and he was sure Greg would notice the cover-job. Instead of being mortified, he just went with it.

He grinned, saying quietly, "Yes I'm a natural ginger, yes those are freckles, and yes I do wear concealer... " his eyes open and Greg is right there; inches away, hovering over him, wanting, anxious, questioning, beautiful.

He can feel the heat radiating off the other man's body, as he watches Greg eyes drifting towards his lips. Hands squeeze each other again encouragement, and Mycroft closes the gap between them. He lifts his free hand to Greg's jaw, cupping it gently and slanting his mouth over the inspectors.

Lestrade wants to say something to that, he really wants, but then Mycroft's lips covering his own are the far better option. The man tastes sweet of scotch and a tiny bit of the savory pie they have had... but mostly he tastes like Mycroft and this is probably the best part.  
Lestrade brings them closer together, which isn't such a big effort since Mycroft is already sitting on the near end of the sofa and can't go anywhere far back and Lestrade himself almost sits with one leg completely on the couch and leans closely to the other.

The kiss is somewhat awkward at first, like they've forgotten how things work actually, but Lestrade is very tempted to explore the other more and Mycroft's just being absolutely charming in his arms.

Lestrade had laid one of his arms, the one that isn't involved with Mycroft's fingers, around his shoulders and the top of his back. His elbow is resting on the back of the sofa so that Lestrade hasn't to lean completely on the other's shoulder with his weight.  
Jesus.. Mycroft really is slim. Lestrade can tell from the very first cautious embrace he dares. Hopefully Mycroft won't break apart under a firm hug.. Lestrade wouldn't forgive himself ever.

After a moment he pulls back and looks at the other with his eyelids halfway closed. He is breathing unevenly, his heart purposefully beating in his chest.

"I like ginger and your freckles are adorable if you don't mind me saying that. I would rather you leave them like that ..."  
But in the end it's completely up to Mycroft and Lestrade can't change that, so he only wants him to know - that he's perfect and beautiful and maybe even adorable (even if the latter would probably bother Mycroft) and Lestrade tells him all this in a low mumbling voice, before the next one is his turn and he tilts his head slightly to kiss Mycroft. This time decently and passionate.

Kissing anyone for the first time is an awkward affair, but they find their rhythm easily enough. Once they've found their pace, Mycroft takes great delight in learning all he can about the way Greg likes to be kissed, cataloging each hum and sighs and whimper, the way his mouth tastes, and the feel of his soft tongue.

The feel of Greg's lips and the taste of his mouth are simply put, heavenly; Coupled with the warmth of his body, and the sweet spice of his freshly-applied cologne, Mycroft's head and heart and senses are completely overtaken by all that is Gregory Lestrade.

Mycroft's not eager to release Greg's hand but eventually he does, in order to wrap his arm around the inspector's torso and bring him even closer. His other hand, the one initially at Greg's cheek, slides up into his surprisingly soft, silvering hair. He's intent on getting this man as close to him as humanly possible and kissing him until they run out of air.

Hearing Greg's words of adoration as their first kiss breaks, Mycroft's freckles become more prominent as a deep blush floods his cheeks. The hand in Greg's hair moves back to his face, thumb stroking the sweet lower lip, as Mycroft beams at him. Greg finds him adorable?

"I've never been called adorable. I.. I quite think I like it, if I'm honest." he says with a desire-thickened voice. He hasn't got a chance to respond to much more before Greg's leaning in and claiming his mouth again. After their second kiss, which is orchestrated even better than the first, Mycroft rests his forehead against Greg's, both men breathing hard, pulses racing. Words like 'stunning', 'amazing', 'beautiful', and 'delicious' fall from Mycroft's lips as he tries to compose himself.

Lestrade chuckles softly and simply says "Yes you are" to everything that Mycroft's just listed. This gets him an indefinable uncertain look from the other but the detective inspector means it and with a somewhat amused but equally serious smile that makes Mycroft believe him.

However his amusement is cleary overshadowed with desire, his breathing a regular panting but he doesn't mind it, really.  
Mycroft is making him dizzy inside the head and the endearing blush is no good reason for his touch to get any lighter. Instead, he holds on tightly, tracing a soft pattern on the other's back and he can feel the delicate muscles contract under his touch.

Mycroft grinned affectionately at Greg and wrapped both arms around him, drawing him close and brushing his nose along the other man's jaw. "My dear detective inspector, while I find it incredibly charming and lovely that you've turned my words back at me, I assure you I was talking about you."

Lestrade's eyes narrow as he licks his lips absently. Geez, those freckles.. he really likes them. And the next thought ends up wondering about where else Mycroft might have freckles. His cheeks are surely not the only place, and Lestrade has to fight his imagination go adventurous very hard for a moment.

He tries to concentrate on the music instead but the fact that a softer, calmer song is looping at this moment isn't helping very much. Lestrade had been quite sure not to pick anything too sappy or intentionally romantic but he somehow forgot about this particular song. And there it is.. speaking about timing. Maybe he's just fucked.. or maybe it’s a sign. Anyways Mycroft's eyes are drawing his attention back very quickely.  
With a soft sigh Lestrade lifts his free hand traces the line of the man's jaw, his cheek, and he smiles in the corner of his mouth. "Jesus, you really got me.."

When the music changes, the tone softens and Mycroft can't help a soft smile. He slides his hands down Greg's back and his eyes close as Greg's fingers caress his face. "That's handy, Gregory, because you have me too." Here and Now and for as long as the detective wants him.

And Lestrade wants him here, so close, maybe more than he had realized at first. As the other speaks, he watches him again closely and his smile is very warm. His hand travels upwards Mycroft's slender back until he reaches the long neck and begins caressing softly with his fingertips, nuzzling the ginger hairline.

Mycroft's probably got an important schedule tomorrow and needs to sleep at least a few hours before getting up early.  
But truth is, Lestrade doesn't want this evening to end. He hasn't been with someone for a very long time and Mycroft's presence is delighting... more than that, fulfilling.  
So he clears his throat but it doesn't help much against the hoarse sound in his voice when he speaks again. "You going to stay the night?"

Mycroft looks up at his inspector and smiles softly, his eyes full of bliss. He's completely at ease, relaxed from the gentle touches and completely content in the moment. If he's honest with himself, he spent the majority of the evening not wanting to leave.

He'd been dreading the 'well it's getting late... ' moment. And as if on cue, Greg was asking if he'd stay. His heart skittered pleasantly at the words. "If that's an invitation, my dear Gregory, nothing would make me happier." He brushes his mouth across Greg's.

Lestrade practically beams into the chaste kiss before he kisses the other properly. God yea, this is more as he had expected for this evening to turn out. But he likes it. Quite a lot.  
And so with things settled, the detective inspector feels the strong urge to nuzzle a bit closer to the other man. His couch is not that big but it will manage, he hopes, and so he leans back, pulling Mycroft with him and the end up laying closely next to each other on the black leather.  
Lestrade keeps Mycroft on the inside of the sofa, so he can't possibly fall down and one hand resting under his head, the other is softly caressing Mycroft's cheek again.. wandering a bit down to the long neck and fondling his delicate collarbone.  
Lestrade's eye rest on his neck, the way it moves when Mycroft swallows and the sport where the pale skin disappears unter the fabric of his shirt.

Mycroft readily follows Greg as they manoeuver to lay together on the couch. Instinctively he pushes his knee between Greg's legs, tangling their long limbs together. With their heads resting on the arm rest, Mycroft is able to extend his non-dominant arm out under Greg's neck and bend it so his fingers can stroke his Silver Fox's hair, ear, cheek, and neck delicately.

His free arm drapes over Greg's body, the large warm hand sliding up and down his inspector's back. After a few strokes, driven by the way Greg's eyes - black with desire for him and him alone - gaze into his own glasz-coloured eyes and across his features, Mycroft's fingers find their way under Greg's buttoned shirt and make their way up until he's met the warm, soft skin of Greg's waist and lower back.

Lestrade shivers slightly under the bare touch. Mycroft's fingers are not exactly cool but against his heated skin they feel pleasently chilly.  
The D.I exhales in pleasure and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, concentration on the other's touch... the slender fingers. But then Mycrofts glaszy eyes are drawing him back to looking and he can't help but doing just that. They're extraordiany, just like Mycroft is, and Lestrade's more than eager to discover every bit about him.

Beginning with his long legs, Lestrade chuckles a little as he pushed his knees together around Mycroft's leg, pinning him there and he gets a small gasp for that. Lestrade is aware of their close contact around the lower abdomen and hopes Mycroft's very careful with his knee around there..  
His fingers toy with the collar of Mycrofts shirt, playfully, then almost casually opening one of the top buttons until he can reach the silk pale skin. So then he will begin his quest to find every one of Mycroft's freckles..

Mycroft gives a soft grunt as Greg's legs wrap around his leg. He slides his sock-clad foot down the back of Greg's calf and brushes their noses together, letting out a shaky exhale as Greg's fingers find their way into his shirt. He strokes his thumb along the bottom of Greg's ribcage and his hand climbs up, and up, and up until his palm his flat between the other’s shoulderblades, miles of warm skin revealing itself under his touch.

"Gregory... You feel simply amazing," Mycroft whispers against the inspector's lips.

As the collar of Mycroft's shirt doesn't give him so much approach, Lestrade changes his plan and tries it from the other side. Playfully sliding down with his hand on Mycroft's side until he reaches the place where his shirt is neatly tucked in the trousers and the detective is almost careful to loosen it with his hand. But then he can reach the soft skin above Mycroft's hips and strokes curiously over the small of his back.

  
Lestrade likes how actual slim Mycroft's waist is and that he can grasp him perfectly with one arm.  
"And you're fitting perfectly, see?" he whispers back, teasing Mycroft's lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

Mycroft nips playfully at the tip of Greg's tongue and pulls him closer, their bodies completely pressed against one another. He gives a pleasant shiver and a soft moan of pleasure as Greg's hand comes in contact with his skin, warm and soft and lovely.

"I must say, this evening has vastly exceeded my hopes... " He mumbles against Greg's lips, brushing noses together slowly. "I've always had a fondness for you, seeing you take care of my brother on top of doing your regular job... And if I'm honest, I've always found you very handsome."

He slides his hand down Greg's back until his fingertips dip below the waist of his jeans. "I never thought I'd actually get a chance to touch and kisses and hold you."

Lestrade chuckles softly. "Okay so I better don't ask what the hopes were with which you came here in the first place." Under Mycroft's intense gaze he can't help but snap at his lips playfully. "Quiche, right?"

Lestrade fights down the impulse to tease Mycroft some more for he seems pretty prone to that kind of thing, but again it's adorable and his glimmering eye give him away.

Mycroft grins and nips at the tip of Greg's nose at his quiche comment. "I merely hoped for a pleasant evening with a lovely man whom I'm honored to know."

He kisses the spot he just nipped. Secretly though, he couldn't help but hope for more, but with the man being just divorced and not having any idea of his sexual preferences, it wasn't a hope that Mycroft would have considered actually pursuing until tonight. And God is he glad he did.

Of course he has already recognized the delicate hand on his lower back, conscious about what it's aiming for and he can't say he doesn't like the idea.

  
Softly, Lestrade bites Mycroft's earlobe and whispers "If you must know, I've had no actual hopes someone like you could probably ever fancy a bloke like me."

Mycroft groans as sharp teeth graze his ear and he can't help nudging his hips against Greg's. Through the haze of desire brought on by the feel of Greg's teeth, he hears the whispered words about not being fancied.

Mycroft leans back and shakes his head, his hand coming out from under the inspector’s shirt to cup his jaw and look him straight in the eye. "Don't talk rubbish, as you like to say, Gregory, there's plenty about you that's worthy of being fancied. You're smart, you're strong, you've got a wonderful physique, you're charming and caring and witty, you've got excellent taste in music, and you can cook. You got hurt, and I understand that, but don't let someone else's mistakes define you. I fancy you. I've always fancied you."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Lestrade wonders about the word 'always'. Over all the years he had been in contact with Sherlock, but never got to really know that man, Mycroft's been always a dim figure in the background and how little he knew about Sherlock, even less he had known about his older brother.

Mycroft's always been the unsolved mystery to him and he still hasn't the slightes clue how far Mycroft's abilities of supervising people reach, how many files he's got about him on his desk... and he isn't even sure, he actually wants to know.

But truth is that he had been interested in Mycroft for a very long time.

Sure, he was married and had been bound to all things coming with the matter, but being a bisexual he had always had the feeling of something missing in his life, even though he considers himself faithful if not devoted to the one he loves.

Lestrade's hand caresses Mycroft's entire back and he would really love having the opportunity to check for freckles all over there but the thick fabric of his shirt is very bothersome blocking his view also on Mycroft's chest. And as Mycroft rocks his hips against him, the need urges.

Mycroft groans softly and his eyes flutter shut at Greg's teeth on his neck.  He tips his head back, giving his inspector plenty of room to explore, his hand pushing under Greg's shirt again and caressing his muscular back, down to his denim clad backside, back up and around to glide up his chest. 

The sparse hairs there tickle his fingertips all the way from Greg's navel to the point of his sternum.  His other hand slides through the inspectors short silver hair and strokes the skin behind his ear.

Damn that. He grins a little, pleased, and starts biting Mycroft's neck now, the soft spot right under his ear. He bloody likes the sound coming from the other as he does that. "Speaking about cooking. Anytime you feel like creme brulee or strawberries, just tell me." His voice is a low purr against Mycroft's neck now.

Lestrade hesistates for one moment, but then he dares and actually licks over the sensitive skin on Mycroft's neck. He has always been the tasting kind  with a father being a devoted chef in his free time. Even as a kid he had ended up very often stuffing something into his mouth that  had been laying on the floor and then someone, mostly his mother, had dashed around and took it from him before he could choke on it.

Other people might prefer hearing the lover's voice on the phone or smelling their worn t-shirts but Lestrade's got quite the distinctive sense of taste .. and now Mycroft is no exception to this. 

His skin is clean, of course, because he looks it, but there is also a fine trace of salt and the bitter of something else.. maybe a perfume of some sort. But all of this is Mycroft and all of this pretty much drives him crazy at the moment.

So maybe getting a dessert wouldn't be the worst option, but fairly enough he can't bring himself to untangle from Mycroft.

"Hmmhn..  As delightful as dessert sounds, my dear, I've got something much sweeter right here." Mycroft takes a steadying breath in, his heart hammering in his chest.

To this, Lestrade’s expression turns slightly sassy and he casually lets his hand drop down from the other's back to his arse. "Oh yea.. I get your point."

It's small, of course it is because Mycroft is everything but bulky... but again, Lestrade likes it and what his grip discovers is compact and tight.

Mycroft lets out a soft noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan at the feel of Greg's tongue on his skin; already he had worked out that the man was a fabulous kisser and now his tongue is doing wicked things to his neck, it was hard not to imagine what else Gregory Lestrade's mouth was capable of doing.

That thought alone sent a white-hot bolt of desire through Mycroft's body..  Between the tongue on his neck and the hand up his shirt, Mycroft is beginning to feel like they're both a bit overdressed but he doesn't want to rush or push.

Then he feels Greg's hand fall to his backside and his mind changes a bit.

Mycroft seeks out Greg's mouth again, kissing him a little harder, a little more urgently this time. He moves his hand from gripping Greg's ass to moving up across his ribs to his chest, where he begins to undo the buttons of the blue dress shirt one-handed.

Lestrade gives an approving growl to that. It might occur to Mycroft that the detective inspector, once he has crossed the line of being decent, is very much straight forward to what he desires. But in his brain it's merely Mycroft's doing.. being delicate and everything and opening his bloody buttons is not really helping that.

One hand still gripping firmly on his backside but already toying a little with the seam of the trousers, Lestrade's other hand combs through the ginger hair, almost possessively,  until it comes to rest in Mycroft's neck, tilting the man's head in his direction, so he can answer the kiss hungrily.

Lestrade's tongue explores Mycroft's mouth, kissing him deeply and let their tongues tangle in a mess.

As they both need air again Lestrade pulls back for just an inch, panting against Mycroft's lips. "You taste.. holy damn, could seriously doing that all bloody night.."

It takes everything Mycroft has to not just say 'fuck it' and rip the buttons and toss the shirt off and have done with it.  He's more courteous than that, though, and so he takes a torturous few minutes to fully unbutton Greg. The feel of his detective's fingers exploring the curve and cleft of his backside makes him let out a hungry groan - He clearly knows what he's doing and that makes Mycroft's blood go molten with lust.

He can't help but feel a tiny twist of envy, too - he quite enjoyed thinking for a while that he would be Greg's first foray into being with a man, but it goes away with the practical thought that he knows what he's doing which means that he won't really have to be shown or instructed or coaxed, they'll just be able to live in the moment and love each other properly tonight and Mycroft can't definitely live with that.

 Their kiss breaks and Greg mumbles about being able to keep doing that all night and as amazing as that sounds, Mycroft is ready stop being polite and go after what he wants.

It's been a long time and Greg feels and tastes and looks and sounds and smells so fucking amazing and perfect and right....  He wants to have as much of this man as both have the energy for, for as many nights as they live and breathe, and it starts tonight.

 Mycroft gives one last kiss to those beautiful lips before rolling them so that he's more on top of his detective and begins kissing jaw, ear, and neck, hands moving to slide the shirt away from Greg's shoulders, leaving his chest bare. 

He licks a trail from the pounding pulse point in Greg's throat, through the small divot between his collarbone, across the well-muscled and sparsely haired plane of his chest to claim Greg's left nipple between his lips. 

His hands stray south, over Greg's hips and down his legs and back up to the button of his jeans.  Beyond that denim barrier, Mycroft can feel what effect he's had on his beautiful silver Fox and he grins against through man's skin as he laps and sucks and nips at the nipple and surrounding skin.

 At this sensation of Mycroft's mouth on him, sucking and nipping so overwhelming, Lestrade nearly jumps up the couch. "Mycroft!" his exclamation is overshadowed by sheer lust and surprise and his head tilts back as he moans loudly into the dim room "Goddamn!"

There is nothing much he can do for the first entire seconds because he didn't really see that coming and Mycroft's weight on him is too fucking perfect to do anything other than hold him there.

His shirt hangs useless from his underarms, around the elbows but the couldn't care less right now.

His hands run over the full lenght of Mycroft's back, the narrow shoulders and back down over his hips again to his ass as if he was drawn there with mentally force.

 

And yea he is already hard and surely Mycroft has recognized, for it's pretty obvious,  but there is no point in hiding and if he's honest, he has no problem with showing that he has a really, serious liking on the other just now.

Greg's voice and the volume that comes from him as he shouts Mycroft's name in surprise is fuel to Mycroft's fire.  He gives the opposite nipple the same treatment, licking, nibbling, kissing, until he's sure his detective can take no more. 

While Lestrade very hard tries to concentrate on anything other than Mycroft's mouth on his sensitive spot, he fumbles with the seam of the other man's jeans, which is frustratingly tight around his slim waist and there is barely a way under that.

So he reaches between them and opens right casually the button of Mycroft's trousers. Now there is slight access to the denim and the detective inspector slips his hand back on Mycroft's arse, but this time under the bothersome fabric, and the thin layer of Mycroft's underwear is the only obstacle now between his bare skin and Lestrades's curious hand.

He wonders if his new lover is more the typ for boxers or tight panties. He did take a guess though...

 Greg's hand venturing into his jeans and skimming over ass, only covered by his soft cotton briefs, makes Mycroft almost forget what he's doing. He's so close to being able to touch the most intimate parts of him that it makes his brain fog with need and lust and desire.

He groans softly against his lover's chest, nipping the skin right in the center and grinds himself against the man's firm thigh.  But Gregory Lestrade tastes far too good to stop what he's doing and after a moment his senses reset. His fingers undo the button of Greg's jeans, pull the zipper down, and he rains a random pattern of small bites and open-mouth kisses to Greg's abdomen, dipping his tongue into his detective's navel, and further south until his lips and nose brush the waistband of Greg's underwear.

"You." nip "You taste," lick "so fucking good, Gregory." nip, again.  He begins to tug the jeans down, bringing underwear with them.

 Lestrade's mind is blown, his eyes wide and dark with lust as he watches the other intrigued, almost stunned, a low growl coming from his throat.

But only for a short moment, then his unoccupied hand flys to Mycroft's shoulder, stroking the collarbone before his finger claw into the thin fabric of his shirt firmy, possessivly and he looks the other straight in the eye, licking his lip.  "Bit unfair, don't you think?"

 And there it goes, Mycroft's well known sort of smugish smile which filles Lestrade with the urgend need to kiss and lick him senseless, push the man down on the couch and... just get his teeth into him.

But instead he pulls on the bothersome fabric, until its free over Mycroft's head and then he tosses it off like the worst foe itself.

The moment Mycroft's bare chested above him Lestrade can't help but stare at the pale skin, the lean silhouette and he runs both hands over his sides.

Then he examines the chest with the even less sparsely ginger hair and Lestrade almost beams at him, as he spots the first freckles around the belly and where they combine with the trace of delicate reddish hair, that leads into Mycroft's already opened trousers.

Lestrade heaves himself up a bit onto his forearms and leans in to carefully lick and bite the soft skin where he can reach it.

 Mycroft had crawled back up Greg's body to let the inspector remove his tee shirt and sighed happily as his lover's mouth found as many lovely spots on his neck and shoulders and chest as he could reach.  He whisper's Greg's name as lips and tongue and teeth manipulate his skin.

He holds himself up with one hand and cradles Greg's face against his body with the other. "Gregory... God, don't stop doing that..." he says finally when teeth find a particularly sensitive spot just where collarbone and shoulder meet. Mycroft grinds himself against Greg again, the friction making him throb against the snug confines of his trousers.

 And Lestrade doesn't intend to. With one hand holding his balance he winds the other arm around Mycroft's waist and hold him there, licking on him, on one nipple and then biting softly. Mycroft makes the sweetes noises and Lestrade playes around some more until he stops licking, very slow, almost teasingly lifting his head and looking into the other's face.

And his gazes stays there, fixed on Mycroft's face, his eye as he leans back again on the couch, moving his hand to his lovers hips and nudging the loose seam of his trousers.

He is aware to hold eye contact at any time as he slowly but bit burning eyes, begins to undo the denim and pulling them down slowly. Lestrade too doesn't bother so much with his underwear and takes it in one go, aware that Mycroft isn't anything less thrilled then he is about their little game.

 Mycroft feels Lestrade begin to lower his trousers and underpants and he shifts himself to help, along with taking the advantage to finish lowering Greg's trousers the rest of the way off, leaving them completely exposed to each other, erections hard and heavy against one another's bodies.

Mycroft heaves out a shuddering sigh, dropping his forehead against his lovers'. "Gregory... I think it goes without saying that I want you so, so very much right now..." He trails his fingers from Greg's throat, across his collarbones, down his chest, over his abdomen, and down to wrap around Greg's length.

And at this last grasp, Lestrade gives a strong hiss followed by a choked moan. He gazes down to where Mycroft's hand has settled as if he needs the visual confirmation.

And it really does something for him, swallowing at the view - then he clutches both arms around Mycroft pulling him closer, pulling him desperately down on himself until their bodies press against each other and they both moan from the bare contact.

He's hot, practically burning from Mycroft's heat and the hand on him, around him.

"Jesus, Mycroft... Tell you what, you can have me.. bloody everthing you want." Lestrade's voice is a hot puff against the lover's ear then he snaps for his lips, kissing him devotedly, with pleasure.

His hand travel unsteady up the whole of Mycroft's back, to his chest and back again to the slender tights, pressing him all the time closer down until he graps for his ass again, now finally without clothes. Stroking his buttocks before slightly, dipping into the delicate curve.

Mycroft follows Greg's gaze to where his hand wraps around his inspector's cock, stroking gently.  His breathing comes in short bursts, chest and neck and face flushed, and a moan escapes him at the erotic sight of the detective inspector laid bare before him. 

He ducks his head and meets Greg's mouth, sucking at his tongue and biting at his lips and then burying his face in his lovers neck, biting and sucking through skin there.  "I want to touch and taste every inch of you," he says against the shell of Greg's ear.

"I want to be on you and in you and I want... -mmh" he cuts off with a whimper as Greg's fingers begin to probe him.  "I want to..  -- Oh, Gregory, Jesus, yes... " he arches his back and presses slowly back against his lovers hand, his own hand tightening around Greg just a little. 

As Mycrofts speaks, a runs shiver down the inspector's spine and he can't help but gasp heavily and, if possible, getting even more hard over those words. Honestly he's got a weakness for dirty talk, if you can call it like that.

Mycroft's way of putting everything more formal and subtle makes his head spin, because it's the same, thrilling, message, but it's in Mycroft's very own personal language... and that really tops everything.

While Lestrade's right hand is still quite busy on Mycroft's ass, caressing gently, he takes his lover's available hand. Eyes fixed on him - and that is really something Lestrade is intrigued by, the other never turns his gaze down if he doesn't mean to - he dips Mycroft's fingers against his lips, before he takes them into his mouth, sucking, licking, entangling them with his tongue.

Initially only to the first knuckle, and as Mycroft stares at him, he takes them even more deeper, eyes glowing with tease and lust.

At some point he has to squeeze his eyes shut because Mycroft's grip around his cock tightens and he groans around the other's fingers, licking between them before he takes a soft bite.

Feeling Greg's lips around his fingertips sends a bolt of white-hot pleasure straight to his groin and Mycroft flutters his eyes closed a moment, letting out a string of gasps and obscenities. He rolls to his side, bringing Greg with him, so he doesn't have to try to hold himself up.

He continues to stroke Greg slowly, but his focus is now on the fingers slowly sliding in and out of Greg's mouth and of course, he can't help but envision those amazing lips elsewhere on him.

Mycroft watches for a few more moments, but then decides he needs more. He begins to scoot down the couch, kissing and biting his way south, until he's face to face with the hard length his hand's wrapped around.

He reaches out with his tongue and laps at the tip as he situates himself between Greg's thighs. Given his long reach, he's able to let Greg continue sucking his fingers and that just makes him even more enthusiastic to do what he's about to.

 As Lestrade feels the first contact of Mycroft's mouth on him down there he gasps his name, voice hoarse and his whole body tightens for one moment at the sensation. But at the same time he grasps Mycroft's wrist and doesn't let go of his fingers, licking on them even more devotedly now, sucking hard.

His other hand settles in the ginger hair, tousling until it’s a complete mess, but he's got no time to bother and is quite sure the same goes for Mycroft.

When the other starts to work his mouth and tongue on him he literally sees stars and at this point, he has to close his eyes again, even if he want' so very much to watch Mycroft’s.

Lestrade's breath is no less than a heavy irregular panting and moaning now. In his experience men are far better with this, because they know exactly where to touch, to lick, how to grab and how to make it pleasant for the other.

But Mycroft is.. .. maybe it's because Lestrade hasn't been with someone for a long while now, but Mycroft's way of doing it remarkably gives him not a single break.

 Gregory Lestrade tastes absolutely amazing. Silken and hot and hard and salty against Mycroft's tongue, and simply and absolutely amazing.  He works his mouth over Greg's length, with every intention of making Greg forget his own name.

He controls his breathing carefully, taking in Greg's cock as far as he can. Sucking, licking, nipping, grazing his teeth. Making him moan and throb and suck at his fingers even more.

The hand that was wrapped around the engorged length now cups Greg's testicles, fondling them gently and causing a whole new set of vocalization to come from the inspector. They can't get enough of each other, it would seem.

After a few minutes, he withdraws his fingers from the warm, wet mouth and moves them down, down, beneath Greg, to swipe at the cleft of his backside, seeking out the snug entrance just beyond.

 When the long fingers leave his mouth and reach further down, Lestrade heaves himself pantingly onto the forearms and glances down at Mycroft. He tries very hard to clear his mind for a sec, though this turns out very difficult since Mycroft literally has blown every sense out of him, or rather is still at it.

However, Lestrade is pretty sure he can't take it for so much longer.. not with Mycroft's damn skilled mouth and everything and especially when he's going for that option now...  stimulation the trigger point inside him, which makes him groan when just thinking about it.

But to be honest, the detective inspector isn't very used to being so passive. He glances at Mycroft, wondering in his foggy head if there is anything he can do for the other. He opens the mouth, supposably to say something, but every attempt breaks over into a moan as Mycroft proceeds – and Lestrade feels the jolting heat running through the entire body.

Mycroft is a generous lover, wanting to please his partner as much as he can before letting the tables turn. It's been a long time, but he hasn't forgotten a move.  He's talented and attentive, gentle or rough as he needs to be, and it's clear he genuinely wants to be right where he is.

His saliva-slick fingers probe gently but don't penetrate, simply mapping out every intimate detail of the man's body.  Each moan sounds like it's almost begins as a question or a statement and finally Mycroft is curious.  He slowly draws his mouth off of Greg's length and kisses his lower abdomen.

"Something you'd like to say, darling?  Mmm?"

Lestrade pants for air, 'not fair' he thinks but it's still somewhat blurry. His gaze is fixed on Mycroft's face and his expression almost let's him forget any specific thought, loosing himself in the glasz eyes of his lover.

"Uhmg.." it comes a bit incoherently and Lestrade give himself a mental kick before starting over again. "Damn it Mycroft, you're fucking with my brain." And not just with his brain, to be accurate but he tries to forget about this right now

"Dunno what to...  you're planing to finish me off any time soon... just wanted to say, er.. I mean you can, would glady let you but..  er, just to let you know, anytime you feel like switching places...."

Lestrade's got the certain feeling he isn't making much sense at the moment and Mycroft's look isn't very helping ever , though his expression is soft. 

Lestrade groans in frustration (and maybe because of something else too) and as he finally asks, it doesn't sound very certain, as if he would leave the choice to Mycroft in the end.

Greg's strained voice, mumbled and slurred words, and the moans and gasps and breaths he takes, are all music to Mycroft's ears.  He tips his head and sucks at the thudding pulse point at the base of his lover's erection, nipping the sensitive skin there a moment. He chuckles softly at Greg's lack of verbal coordination.

"Gregory," he takes a long lick at the length of hard flesh at his lips, "my darling..." Another lick. "You are so" Nip "fucking beautiful" Lick "and adorable" a long, powerful suck "when you're out of your mind with pleasure."  

He's probably been holding Greg at the ready for far too long, he realizes, but he's not one to leave a job incomplete.  He decides to re-double his efforts, making sure this man recieves the best finish he's ever had before he'll let Greg lay a hand on him.

 He pushes Greg's leg up over his shoulder, which helps open him up a bit, and he dips his head and swirls his warm tongue around the tight opening, adding pressure gradually.

Once the muscle relaxes a bit, he continues the pressure with the tip of his thumb. He then relaxes his throat and ducks his head over Greg's lap again, taking every inch of his lover deep into his mouth and past the barrier of his throat, humming softly for added effect, eager to feel the splash and taste the result of Greg's completion on his tongue.

Lestrade takes that as the most meaningful answer he can probably get, before he practically collapes back and landing heavily on the couch again as his arms wouldn't support him anymore.

As Mycroft does that thing again..  that certain thing he can't even explain, but it involves a lot of the other's mouth and tongue and now (jesus..) also throat, the detective inspector seriously thinks he's going nuts.

He gives a deep moan, almost a low cry "Fuck!" as Mycroft combines his mouth's doing with the teasing of his hand.

Mycroft's slick tongue on his arse had been almost enough to break his self-control entirely but the combination of mouth and fingers is a damn good alternative.. if not improvement.

Lestrade pants through gritted teeth and his fingers are desperately clawed into the sofa cushion he's laying on.  He's close.. so close.

And finally he can't take it anymore and it's Mycroft's name he's moaning, crying out into the room, not giving a shit about the sharp-eared old lady living next door.

His hips rock upwards as he comes into Mycroft's mouth, hot and pulsing, before he sinks back onto the couch.. panting and trying to get his breath back. Exhaustion swaps over him and he closes his eyes for a moment, hands reaching for Mycroft.

Mycroft smoothes his free hand over Greg's lower abdomen, coaxing the orgasm from him from every dimension he can manage and when Greg finally erupts, Mycroft closes his eyes and smiles and swallows what he can.

As Greg settles down from his intense climax, Mycroft continues to suck and lap gently, cleaning up what little mess is left over. When hands begin reaching for him, Mycroft takes the hands and climbs up the beautiful body of his detective, planting kisses wherever he can reach. He wraps his arms around Greg and nussles his neck affectionately, hand stroking up and down the detective's abdomen and chest slowly, soothingly.

Lestrade, still somewhat out of breath, watches the other closely, a fond smile on his lips. He nuzzles his nose into Mycroft's hair and keeps his lips softly in touch with his temple without actually kissing. "You are.." he whispers, voice hoarse "unbelievable. That was.. fricking unbelieveable."

He huffs against his lovers skin in amusement, feeling so damn comfortable and.. complete in this moment he really considers to stay like this for all bloody eternity. And if not this, then at least for tonight.

But his conscientiousness and, above that, Mycroft's warm body beside him in his current state reminds him otherwise. Pressing his lips to the his temple the inspector's hand starts to move south, fingertips fondling the flat belly, before he closes his hand attentively around Mycroft's unappreciated lenght.

The sound Mycroft make lets him bring his lips close to the shapely ear, his voice a low purr. "Tell me what you want..." And an unspoken 'everything' lingers in the air following the words.

Lestrade himself needs a short break at the moment, but if Mycrofts wants to - or rather - is able to wait some more, they may be able to continue later... He thinks about ushering Mycroft to his bedroom, bringing the cream and strawberries with him... because sleep isn't really an option tonight and really just fuck that.

The tought makes him grin a little, but also his grip tightens. He knows how.. utterly awkward it can be, to be in this state for longer than necessary and it needs a certain amount of composure to handle - something Lestrade isn't exactly very good with, but though he doesn't know about Mycroft..

Mycroft clicks his tongue and reaches for Greg's hand, bringing it back up to his lips. "Mmnnh..  Gregory..  Tsk-tsk-tsk, no, darling, you rest.  Don't you worry about me right now. Just relax and enjoy.  That will be there when you're ready."

His voice is low and deep and hoarse and instead of the strains of need underlying his tone, he speaks from a complete state of contentment. He's intensely pleased that he was able to pleasure Greg so completely and now is content to lay embracing him.

 "When you're ready, my dear detective, and I am by no means rushing you - I want you to rest - but when you're ready and able to move, I'm going to be so bold as to invite myself into your bedroom." He says as he kisses just below Greg's ear, resting his palm over the still-thrumming heart of his detective. 

"I imagine your bed is far better suited for two full grown men than this couch, regardless of what we do in there."

 Lestrade can't help but laugh about Mycroft's wits, though even that is bloody exhausting at the moment. Mycroft sure is unbelievable.

"Resting, .. resting's boring" he gives a not so authentic imitation, display of him hanging around with Sherlock way too often.

But the DI feels heavy like he's never going to move again, whole body limp in a very pleasing kind of way, but he will... if nothing else but to get the dessert prepared and at least present his guest with something delicious for his favour.  

But for the moment they just rest, Lestrade to get his breath and his mind back and Mycroft to calm a little, and he holds the other man close, nudging his cheek. "Be bold as you like, you poshy git. I don't mind.. really."

He huffs. "But we'll see about my bed.. if it fits the holmesian standard."

The poshy git comment earns Greg a tickle along his ribs but Mycroft doesn't pursue it long, wanting his lover to relax and recover.  He smiles and laughs though, clearly amused by Lestrade and his imperfect impression of Sherlock's sallow whinging about boredom. 

Frankly he was perfectly alright with Greg having an imperfect grasp of his brother's personality quirks, because it would be downright terrifying to be in bed with a man who could make himself sound like Sherlock.  He banishes the thought completely and goes back to focusing on the inspector.

Mycroft brushes his nose along Greg's and steals a kiss from his delicious lips.  "Oh and Gregory? Don't worry about you bed fitting my standards. Pay no attention to The Holmsian Standard. There really isn't one." Expecting and getting the "You're full of bollocks" look from Greg, he chuckles and continues.

"My dear detective, a bed is just a bed unless you've got someone special sharing it.  I have a lovely bed at home and it's quite comfortable because I do have material tastes befitting my fortune, but I would sleep on a concrete floor in the middle of the London Underground if it means waking up to you."

At the 'my fortune' shit gives Lestrade another mumbled "Posh" before he rolls his eyes over Mycroft's darn lovely comment about the concrete, but smirks. Surely his bed isn't that bad.. and he fights the urge to shove Mycroft from the couch, just a teensy bit, to make a point.

But he isn't. Instead the detective inspector tries to get up himself now, with a dramatically grunt and is very happy when his legs work so far and his head isn't spinning anymore under the lack of blood in his brain.. cus it had been going bloody elsewhere.

He places one gentle kiss on Mycroft's forehead before standing and rolling his shoulders a bit, experimentally.

"If you want, you can be bold now. Bedroom's that way." he points " I'll be in a sec, bathroom first, then kitchen." He winks at the other and then doesn't even bother to put some pants on, for he can't even tell where they are at the moment.. probably somewhere beside the couch or - if he's very unlucky - stuck between the cushions, like last time.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft had to grin over Greg's 'posh' comment. He's waiting for the moment where his detective gives him a nudge or a shove or a 'piss off' but it never comes. He is a bit of a posh to his own admission. He has more money than he knows what to do with and makes more every day. And he doesn't mind spending it one bit. He buys the finest suits, wines, scotch, cars, electronics, but nothing really ever satisfied him. Greg... Greg satisfies him. He'd give his fortune away if he had to, to keep this man in his life. Instead, he vows to himself to use his wealth to keep them comfortable and happy for however long they have together. Greg is the sort of man that works because he loves what he does, so Mycroft doesn't expect he'll ever quit, but he hopes Greg will let him take care of him and spoil him a little at least.   
He reluctantly lets Greg get up from the couch. He immediately misses the warm body next to him, but the sight of the long, lean form walking away from him, naked, makes up for the loss. He hauls himself off the couch and quickly catches up with Greg, wrapping his arms around the slightly shorter man's frame and kissing his bare shoulder. "Don't be long." He gives Greg a gentle swat on the arse and strolls off toward the indicated bedroom.   
In the room, it's dark and cool and smells very much like Greg. He doesn't turn on the lights, so he only sees foggy details of three room. It's sparsely decorated, only enough to have a spot to store clothes other than his suits, a tv/dvd, and bedside tables. The bed's unmade, Mycroft can feel from the way the bed feels under him. He maneuvers around and gets the sheets and duvet stated and leans back against the headboard comfortably to wait for his lover. 

 

When Lestrade is in the bathoom to clean himself up a bit, he remembers just then that his bedroom is probably a real state of a mess right now. He's a bit lazy when it comes to these things, although his alarm is always carefully set to 7 o'clock in the morning. To be honest, since he's living alone there had been rarely a day where he’d come home from work early. And it's no wonder considering there isn't anyone waiting for him back home.  
Sometime he had toyed with the idea of getting himself a dog or something, but also his schedule wouldn't allow that really and he can imagine Sgt. Donovan's face more than a bit not amused if he'd bring a pup to the crime scene. 

After the bathroom he tunes off the music with a quick tip to the remote, before disappearing into the kitchen. Fortunately there's only one small window beside the kitchen sink. He's not entirely sure if his neighborhood would fancy him being naked while he shakes cream in a bowl. On moment he thinks about putting the apron on and present Mycroft the dessert like that, but he pushes the idea aside. Cream with strawberries is probably enough suggestive for a first evening..   
Mycroft hears the stereo shut off, then the sound of Greg tottering around in the kitchen for a few minutes. He got up quietly and peeked around the corner, watching Greg work his magic - naked - on some form of dessert. It was that, or discover the secrets hidden within the fabled 'bedside drawer' - Curious as he was, he didn't figure his new lover would appreciate him being a snoop. 

Watching Greg in the kitchen.... He was marvelous, and Mycroft found himself in awe, completely humbled, and he also felt a thrilling-yet-frightening twist in his heartspace at the kindness of the man. There he was, having already cooked a full meal, with scotch and a toe-curling orgasm fogging up his senses, making dessert. It was adorably domestic, heartwarmingly sweet, and undeniably sexy all at once.   
Lestrade's toying playfully with the eggs, milk, sugar and a bit of cream and while the stuff is in the stove he washes the strawberries and neatly removes the stems.   
Mostly when he's cooking he tends to forget everything around, but this time he can't help the picture of Mycroft sprawled out on his bed. Hopefully he won't get so bored as to start rummaging through his bedside table. Well, he could.. Lestrade isn't actually shy with anything and the fact that he likes to be.. 'prepared' for any circumstances.   
When everything is ready he puts two servings into the small white dessert plates, strawberries put aside on a separate plate and equipped with this the inspector returns to the bedroom... to find Mycroft lingering in the dark. Under any other circumstance he would find that quite appealing, actually, but now he can't see a damn thing like where to put the stuff without dropping it on the blanket. "Erm.." he says, bit uncertain. "Can you.. maybe switch on the small lamp there? Yea, just right there, beside the bedstand."  
Not wanting to ruin Greg's surprise for him, Mycroft crawled back in bed and lay there with his eyes closed and a content smile on his face, humming one of the slow rock ballads that had been playing while they were pleasuring each other. He replayed the moments in his head - every touch, kiss, bite, lick, moan, whisper, grunt - everything was catalogued in his mind forever and losing himself in it helped pass the time pleasantly.

Eventually, he senses Greg's appearance and the sound of the detective's voice brings him out of the cloud of memory he'd lost himself in. He does as he's asked, reaching to switch on the bedside lamp, his eyes adjusting quickly to the muted yellow light. He smiles softly at the sight of Gregory Lestrade, stark naked, with his hands full of dessert. 

"Gregory... Goodness, you've been busy." Mycroft gets up and takes a plate off his hands. "You really didn't have to go to all this, but... I'm absolutely flattered and thrilled that you did." He leans in and presses a slow, tender kiss to Greg's mouth, letting his free hand drift down the inspector's side. "Now. What shall we do with all this, mm?" 

 

Lestrade huffs indulgently and his face suggests eating while its hot and delicious. But when Mycroft takes one of the plates from him to free his hand, he watches him with a gentle look in his eyes. The muted warm light is doing very nice things to Mycroft's silhouette, his skin seeming even more touchable and soft from this perspective. Lestrade wants to put the plates down somewhere, the bed if nothing else, and reach for the other, fondle with the lit skin and the freckles and everything in reach.   
The inspector finds himself smiling gently.. maybe a bit spacey even, but he can't help the warm feeling in his chest flowing over Mycroft's delight over his cooking. There's this nonspecific flutter in his stomach, telling him that possibly he's developing a bit more than a crush for the other..

He looks at Mycroft's face closely and beneath the delight he spots a well-covered look of true surprise greets him. And it occured to the D.I that his guest probaby was not so much used to being really cared for. Beside all the wealth.. there would still be things you can't buy with money.. not even with shiny british coins.   
In comparison to Sherlock, for the both brothers were very much alike and had a range of traits in common, they shared like some sort of self-selected social awkwardness. But at least, Sherlock had friends... if Lestrade would call himself that, and he had John.   
Mycrofts seemingly did try not to look it though, but the detective inspector wondered if he was lonely.  
The thought makes his heart twitch a little, right there, where he just had this certain warm feeling before.   
Well.. Lestrade would do anything it took to make him feel not lonely this night.. or overall in his company, because really, he always bas been a caring person... and he really does care for Mycroft a big deal, he notices.

"Shoo, back to bed you go" he grins a little and nods to his plate "and take this with you. We're going to make ourselves damn comfortable now." And action following words he puts his plate down and climbs onto the bed, fumbling his way under the blankets and waiting for Mycroft to join him, as he holds the blanket up for him.   
The look that Greg gives him as both men are bathed in light makes his heart clench even more. It's as if the man can see right through to the heart of him; his confidences and riches and otherwise posh exterior stripped away until all that's left is the deep-seated insecurity and loneliness. He normally keeps himself better protected, but Greg has found the way into his very being and it excites and terrifies him all at once.   
A man in his position doesn't have many friends, and the only family Mycroft has is his brother and elderly mother. He takes care of himself, fixes his own problems, and carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. All this in addition to watching over Sherlock and his beloved England.   
It seems like Greg can see this, as clear as if it's written on his skin, but beyond the look of discovery is the underlying promise: "It doesn't matter. I'll be there. I'll take care of you."   
It's a soft, comforting feeling; it makes Mycroft's heart swell and he lets out a sigh of bliss. He realizes in that split second moment of thought that he's dangerously swept up in this evening; dinner with a friend turned into a night of passion and here they are hours later thinking of taking care of one another? Amazing. The voice of reason in his brain tells him to be cautious but his heart is by far the louder voice for once.   
Casting those deep thoughts aside, Mycroft smiles and complies with Greg's request, taking a moment to admire the smooth, delicious backside as Greg climbs over the bed. He licks his lips absently and hums his approval with a smile. He sets his plate on the bedside table and slips under the covers, leaning over to kiss the side of his lover's neck gently. "Thank you, love. You're... amazing." he whispers in a humble tone.   
Lestrade smiles like a Cheshire cat as he waits for Mycroft to have his cream ready, spoon in hand. The best about crème brûlée is the very first bite, when you pierce through the cracking and he definitely wants to share that moment with Mycroft.  
Several spoons and strawberry bites later it turns out that feeding someone with cream has its own appeal... especially if it's Mycroft. Every time, Lestrade watches Mycroft putting the spoon into his mouth, licking more extensively than necessary, his eyes widen a bit and he licks his lips unknowingly.... recalling certain images back to his memory.  
He has to reach for Mycroft more than just once and the thought that the other is naked under his duvet does things to his imagination. 

Halfway through his bowl he grabs for the strawberries and stuffs himself for a while with the delicious fruits. He really loves summer.. and to be honest fancies having a slight tan.   
When he notices that the other is watching very attentively, he bites back a grin, tries to keep his face solemn as he takes one of the berries and holding them in front of Mycroft's lips, eyebrow raised slightly.

 

Mycroft's always been more of a fan of fancy cakes, but creme brulee made my Greg Lestrade is like manna from heaven. He indulges in every single bite, the sweet cream and deep caramelized sugar flavor flooding his senses and making him squirm in delight. 'He's succeeding if he's trying to get me to fall in l-- Oh. Ohhhh, no, hold on. Don't you dare go thinking that, Mycroft Holmes,' He mentally chides himself. 

When he comes to his senses he realizes that Greg is taking bites out of a strawberry and the look on his face when he's doing it is almost pornographic. Any and all thought in Mycroft's head goes away completely and all he can focus on is the way that Greg's tongue and teeth practically molest that beautiful, deep red strawberry and oh god he wants Greg doing that to parts of him... And suddenly, there's a berry before his own lips. 

Mycroft reaches out with his tongue and licks the berry first, watching Greg's face before nibbling just the fine point of it. If Greg's going to play dirty, by God so is he. He takes another small nibble before opening his lips, swirling his tongue over the berry, and taking a proper bite, eyes never leaving his lover's. 

And Lestrade swallows visibly at the display. Somehow he's near to just forgetting that he just had a magnificent blowjob..oh lord, Mycroft is making him feel like a bloody youngster again, bursting with hormones.   
Lestrade had always believed the saying that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, Mycroft's the perfect proof so to speak .. but what he's doing to the damn berry isn't even legal anymore.   
When the other has finished with the fruit, keeping eye contact all the time, Lestrade's next strawberry comes with a white cream dip. And as Mycroft also works his tongue on this one the inspector can't hold back anymore and dips his finger into the cream with a sly smirk before he licks it experimentally. Success as Mycroft's eyes widen as well... and so his next cream covered finger goes to his lovers mouth, sliding gently over the soft bottom lip.   
He isn't hungry anyways and all his senses are drawn to Mycroft now..   
"Fuck me.... if you were dipped in cream, I swear by God I would eat you in one bite."  
Mycroft is thoroughly enjoying teasing Greg with the fruit and cream and creme brulee. As Greg dips his finger into Mycroft's mouth, Mycroft reaches for a fingerfull of cream and swipes it along Greg's neck and as Greg's finger exits his mouth, he leans forward and licks the cream away slowly before whispering in Greg's ear. "I'm quite the fan of being bitten, you know." He smirks and nips at Greg's earlobe before sitting back against the pillows. 

Lestrade puts their dishes aside on the nightstand with little patience, but a low growl. Mycroft has announced the invitation and he has a favour to return... The alarm on the small table says 1AM but Lestrade covers it from his lovers gaze by leaning in to him, hand on the bed-post beside Mycroft's head.  
He tilts his head in order to nuzzle the long slender neck, before taking a lick followed by eager teeth.   
When the other tilts his head sideways, giving him more room, the detective inspector kisses his way upwards until he reaches the glorious lip, coloured deep red from the berry juice.   
Lestrade looks at them for an moment before tasting them with his tongue. Extra slowly, tongue stretched… then he leans in an inch, pressing through the other's lips, capturing his mouth passionately.

Mycroft groans and arches into the bed as Greg's teeth do wonderful, delicious things to his skin. He pants softly and groans Greg's name through gritted teeth as he grips his lover's hair and holds him there. The man just knows -- knows -- all the right places to touch, kiss, and bite, and Mycroft is quickly and undeniably falling under his spell. Once Greg brings his lips to Mycroft's, he slides his hands up Greg's bare back and parts his lips for his lover's lovely, berry-sweetened tongue. He sucks at it gently, letting his teeth graze, rocking his head in rhythm with the sensuous kiss. He scoots closer to Greg's body, sliding his leg across the inspector's and dragging his lover on top of his body. 

At this point Lestrade feels his brain going foggy again. Kissing Mycroft is like diving into something incredible awesome where he's loosing grip on place and time. But it doesn't matter. He is hovering now above the other and covering him perfectly, without giving him too much of his weight. Mycroft is darn precious and he doesn't want to do him any harm.. except for the appealing love bites that is. 

Lestrade leans more into their kiss, giving Mycroft all he has, kind of devotedly. When it breaks he slows down a bit for one moment, just letting his eye wander over his lover's face and neck. He strokes Mycroft's cheek ceaselessly, bringing his lips to his ear and murmurs "Have already said it but... thank you for coming- or rather, being here.."  
When he shifts on him, the detective inspector carefully positions on of his legs between Mycroft's, pushing up a little with his knee against his groin.. just slightly, teasing. But he can feel the so far suppressed reaction on him immediately and he smiles affectionately.  
Soft spoken words, tender touches, wonderful kisses and longing glances are making Mycroft's head swim and his heart twist in a delightful way. He takes a long moment to just savor the feel of this wonderful man on top of him, in his arms, between his legs, and rapidly making his way into his heartspace as well. He groans, of course, when Greg's knee gently presses up against him, causing a delicious throb low in his belly, but the sensation just adds to the entire moment. 

"Gregory... There is nowhere on this planet that I would rather be," he says in response to Greg's words. "I'm already having a hard time with the idea of leaving." he says softly, a flurry of emotion behind his words. 

The detective inspector shushes him gently, feeling nothing but affection for the other in this moment. And Mycroft's words fuel his need to such an extent... he want him so much right now, everything as close as possible.   
That's why Lestrade clings to him, desperately as they share another intimate kiss.   
This time it's his turn. And so man slips down on Mycroft and kissing, nibbling his way around the collar bone, over the heaving chest, until he reaches the small navel, dipping his tongue there.  
And his hand already feels for the bowl with cream on the nightstand, because it combines with Mycroft so nicely and he wants the flavors mingled.   
This tickling sensation in his belly is omnipresent as he takes a dip into the cream, then brings it to one of Mycroft's nipples and they groan in unison of the feeling before the inspector bends his head down to lick around the soft and sweet spot. Wet noises deliberately made.

Mycroft arches his back and whimpers softly at the feel of cool cream and Greg's warm tongue and soft hands on his skin, and around his sensitive nipple. One hand grips the sheets of the bed, the other slides through Greg's soft hair, fingertips digging into his scalp and encouraging him to do more of what he's doing. 

"Gregory... God, don't ever stop doing that..." he groans as teeth graze his skin. Mycroft raises his hips, grinding himself against his lover's belly, the tickle of his soft body hair doing absolutely wicked things to his length. There seems to be a direct path of pleasure from what Greg's doing to his nipples to the tension pooling in his belly and Mycroft has the fleeting thought that this man, this wonderful, beautiful man could probably make him come without ever touching the most obvious bits. It makes him throb and he hooks one long leg around Greg's waist, needing to feel him even closer than he already is. 

 

Lestrade closes his lips around one nipple, saying Didn't plan to and starts to suck gently. Somehow he manages to keep the balance of passion and affectionate caring and there is just.. both in every of his touches. And he can't stop smiling, a soft grin even as he dips the hard nipple with the tip of his tongue, which earns him another sweet moan.   
Yea maybe he could make Mycroft come without even touching anything delicate... but he isn't planning to. Mycroft twisting under him is nothing but delightful and damn beautiful. Lestrade feels himself heat up again, sparkling jolts running straight through his body, aiming for his groin. Bringing out a pleasurably growl around Mycroft's skin between his teeth, he starts rocking his hips against the other. This way he increases the pressure to his lover's lenght, moving quite indicatively.. the kind of movement giving him away. 

When the skin under his lips is starting to become sore, Mycroft giving another wimper, Lestrade pulls away and watches his lover's face like this..   
"You're so fucking beautiful" he whispers before leaning in again, kissing a way down Mycroft's belly, feeling every contraction and he slides further down until he can place a gently kiss to the other man's inner tights.  
Mycroft smiles brilliantly at Greg as the man calls him beautiful. It's not a word he'd reserve for himself but hearing it from Greg, he sort of believes it. Especially when after he says it, Greg slips down his body, and Mycroft was well aware of his destination. He finds that he misses the man's weight on top of him, grinding against his bottom, but he's able to forgive that absence in exchange for the amazing feel of Greg's lips on his thighs. He arches and gasps as Greg licks, then nips, then kisses the soft skin and Mycroft's legs part even more, wanting to be as open to his lover as possible. 

He runs one hand down to rest on the top of his thigh, his thumb able to stroke Greg's cheek. The other strokes across his own chest, feeling the sore spots and groaning softly at the instant memory of Greg's mouth on him. "Aah. Gregory. You ... I need you.." he mumbles softly. "So much." 

Lestrade exhales in a warm sigh against Mycroft's skin, makes him shiver adorably. And you'll get me, he thinks, devoted to his own imagination of this idea. What he's going to do won't be the last thing... at least not in his mind. They still have time and Lestrade want as much as possible of his new lover ... he even feels kinda drugged yet by Mycroft's mere presence. 

When the long legs part for him, Lestrade gladly takes the invitation and positions himself there, comfortable on the large bed and wraped up in the heat coming from Mycroft. His fingers scurry over the other's hip, teasing the sensitive skin where the ginger curly hair gets more until he's reached the delicate place. The inspector's hand strokes over the throbbing lenght, fondles very careful with the testicles. Then he opens his mouth, when his eyes narrow, and is around Mycroft.. hand supporting.  
He licks the tip, heel of hand thoroughly pressed to the root, so he feels the other twicht in his mouth.. getting more hard a bit. 

Mycroft murmurs a string of sweet curses and prayers as the velvet heat of Greg's mouth, with that incredible tongue, reaches out and welcomes him in. He lets out a choked sob of pleasure and fights to keep his hips from bucking, wanting to enjoy and endure the sweet torture of his lover's slow descent onto his length.

The hand that rested on his thigh moves to cup Greg's cheek, stroking the cheekbone lovingly as he whispers the beautiful man's name amid. The other hand grips the sheets for dear life. Mycroft is no prude, he's had lovers, but no one has ever been so talented and given his member such amazing and sweet and intense attention. He's been reduced to a whimpering, writhing, mindless mess within seconds of first contact and he never wants Greg to stop. 

And even now, Lestrade can't fight off the persistent gentle grin as he works his mouth around his lover. He hollows his cheeks a bit, sucking devotedly and he's rewarded with the sweetest nonsense, mumbles curses and addictive moans and gasps.   
He guessed he could get used to this... really. Mycroft's just so appreciative of everything he does, it's heartwarming. 

Lestrade's second hand, so far unengaged, reaches further down and strokes its way behind Mycroft's testicles, looking for the even spot located there, between the soft skin and the curve of Mycroft's ass. Here he lays two fingers and gives some pressure.. feeling, searching and when Mycroft gives a louder whimper, the thinks he's got it.   
Giving his lover a short break he pulls the finger back, to lick on them thoroughly before he returns to Mycroft's lenght.. and also with his fingers back to his arse... this time though, he spreads his hand and presses the thumb to the newly discovered spot while the other fingers begin to caress Mycroft's most intimate place.

The feel of Greg's mouth is heaven enough. He's almost undone by the feel of his testicles and bottom being fondled and stroked. The pressure of Greg's thumb tip against his perineum and fingers teasing the snug entrance is enough to make him start to move. Slowly, he rocks his hips, unsure of which he wants more - mouth on him or fingers in him.   
One thing Greg discovers early on is that Mycroft is vocal and doesn't hesitate to tell Greg what he wants. More, deeper, slow, faster, amid a constant stream of sighs and whispers and curses and cries and Greg's name... Always Greg's name. 

 

Lestrade takes some time to caress the sensitive skin around the entrance before he pushes in, just a bit. He knows, fingers not slicky enough and he doesn't want to hurt Mycroft but what he does is fairly enough to earn him a series of pleased noises.   
Damn.. the other is thight, so much he can tell... and so darn tempting. He feels himself throb hard against the mattress and inhales sharply. 

And so, at some point - an apology in his eyes - he pulls back and leaves Mycroft's throbbing lenght with one last, but pleasurably lick. This is nice.. more than damn nice to be precise, but he wants Mycroft closer.. every inch of him and from the looks of it, this feeling is mutual. So maybe they can..  
The detective inspector climbs back on his lover but never taking his hand away from his arse, if possible his petting gets even more intense... claiming. And before he asks, voice low and unsteady and noticeable throaty, his eyes flicker to the beside table, or rather the drawer. "You, erm.. want to..?"

The response is instant - "Oh, fuck yes." he says rapidly in a lust-drunk rasp. Greg is in and on and all around him and his cock is straining for release but even if he came now, he needs more, so much more, and Greg is on the right path. "Yes. Gregory. Yes, please!

He reaches for Greg and pulls him in for a searing kiss, sucking his tongue hungrily and grinding his ass against those lovely fingers. As he releases his lover from the kiss he reaches for the indicated drawer and drags it open, curious to see just how prepared he is. 

The detective inspector can't help but grin.. maybe it's anticipation, maybe the fact that he actually made Mycroft say 'fuck' in the bedroom - which is so damn sexy, it makes him reach for the drawer willingly and he smiles even wider, as Mycroft opens the drawer for him to reach into.   
First he produces a tube lubricant, checking it casually before he reaches again and let a small packet with condoms follow. He takes one from the latter but leaves it laying beside them for the moment, concentrating on the lube. 

He knows Mycroft is watching him closely as he puts the cool liquid on his fingers, rubs fingers for it heating up a bit and then he leans back on the other again, his eyes fix on Mycroft and he positions his hand back where it had been. This time he isn't hesistating or anything like that.. instead he pushes insides with one slippery dip. And a second finger follows soon.. when its actual three, Lestrade can't help but lick his lips before biting on them. This is...   
He moves his hand, twirls his finger and can feel Mycroft's tightness loosen a bit as he relaxes ably.  
Lestrade brings his mouth near so the other's ear.. murmuring "You feel so bloody amazing.. geezus.."  
Once three fingers are buried deep inside him, Mycroft can take no more. He turns on his side, curling up and opening himself to Greg and as fingers slide in, probe deep, and stroke that sweet spot that drives him to a fast, hot orgasm. Mycroft is incoherent with desire for a precious moment but he reaches back and hold Greg's hand where it is, waiting until the main convulsions subside before releasing his lover's wrist. "Don't stop," Mycroft groans, "Keep going. I want you. I want you inside. Gregory... "   
It's then that his muscles loosen for Greg, and the inspector knows that he's ready. Mycroft turns to his back again, one leg on either side of Greg's crouched form. He reaches up and takes the condom and tears the packet, then sits up on an elbow, gesturing for Greg to come closer so he can reach to roll the protection on to his lover. 

And Lestrade lets him, panting heavily. But he isn't moving much as Mycroft gives him a hand... still trying to realize what just had happend and looking a little bit taken aback.  
Because he could actually feel when Mycroft climaxed, because of the tight clench around his fingers. And the inspector's eye had widened, examining the beloved face closely and he's sure, he will keep this picture in his head forever...   
Darn.. and he hasn't even.. had touched him there when he finally climaxed - Lestrade is a bit compunctious, like a boy who did something wrong without thinking, like he used to be he was a teen, but the fact that Mycroft actually tells him to go on literally melts his heart. Though, he needs a moment to gather himself, blinks.   
Mycroft chuckled softly at the look on Greg's face. Utter amazement, with a little bit of 'what the fuck just happened there?'. He kissed Greg's neck as he rolled the condom on, then slid his hands over Greg's waist and up his back. "You are incredible, Gregory. Simply amazing. Thank you," he whispers against the detective's throat. He was still seeing stars; It had felt incredible and Mycroft was absolutely going to return the favor soon.   
Greg was such a courteous lover; attentive, talented but gentle, affectionate but aggressive when asked or encouraged. It made such a delicious tightness in his chest to think of how absolutely lovely Greg was in an overall sense. While he watched his lover seem to come to his senses and accept that yes, he had gotten Mycroft Holmes off just with his fingers, he sort of realized, Greg really is the total package; in that same thought Mycroft realized, he is falling for this man harder and harder every second and instead of being terrified, he welcomed it. Being with this man felt right. Felt perfect... Felt like home. 

Lestrade takes a deep breath, brain foggy with lust and affection and positions himself over Mycroft and between his legs.   
Their hips touch and sliding down to the slippery spot, it forces Lestrade to squeeze his eyes for a second. He holds his weight with one arm beside the other's shoulder, guiding himself with the other, until he finds the right angle and pushes in, penetrating slowly... making them moan in unison

A muffled gasp coming from the man, he leans to his lover completely, till he is fully burried inside and it's slippy and tight and amazing and Lestrade wants to do nothing but thrust deeper and actually take him, but he stills for a moment. Both arms wrapping around Mycroft's shoulders and his neck, Lestrade leans down to kiss him intoxicated.  
Mycroft smiled up at Greg as he got himself into position... And there... Oh, God, yes, there he was, sliding in, slow and steady, until Greg was nestled completely inside him. He could feel Greg's hammering heartbeat on him, in him, matching his own in pace as they both adjust to the feeling of being joined so intimately. It's such a delicious sensation that Mycroft's eyes roll back and he arches as Greg reaches his depth. He wraps his arms round his lover and holds him tight.   
"Gregory..." He moans just before Greg's mouth claims his. He raised his legs and wrapped both around his lover's hips and pressing himself harder against Greg's length, needing more. Needing movement, friction, pressure. "... Take me, love... Please, I need to feel you move... "

Lestrade finds himself absolutely intrigued by his new lover. Every sense, every movement is elegant and smooth but yet so damn sexy about him.. maybe even without intention. The part where he became completely undone was stunning, and Lestrade still needed some time to realize, and there is this sort of defenseless which makes him almost vulnerable, but it seems so deliberate tough... 

Lestrade can't properly think in this situation and to be honest, feeling is more than enough.   
The only explanation is that the other trusts him.. to open up and just be himself with him.   
Mycroft Holmes mostly is composed and subtle and even exclusive to almost everyone else, the inspector knows that all too well, but with him he is nothing like this.   
Execpt for last minutes passed by.   
Lestrade probably will always refer to Mycroft as the adept of silent orgasm in awe. It had been just so... gentle and inconspicuously, like he'd finished him off in a public place .. a backstreet, office or something with the need to stay quiet and don't get noticed by anybody. And in a strange way it was kinda.. gentlemen-like, that Lestrade can't help but feel a bit crude beside him.   
But it fits, its taking its place in the overall image Lestrade has of his lover, being classy and everything but he also loves this vulnerable, almost fragile side he's discovered recently.   
Just a bit it reminds him of women he'd been with.. and he fancies that thought, because he actually likes to be the solid shoulder to lean on to ... and once again, Lestrade realizes that they have that.. bonding, that it just fits with them, and it make him overjoyed. 

Now there is only Mycroft and he's everything that matters in this moment. Being hot and affectionate and all around him.. and they groan in unison, as Lestrade starts to move - first it's a only a soft rocking of his hips, but soon he is setting up a faster pace, thrusting into Mycroft with long and filling strokes.   
As much as he likes him being polite and calm and everything .. the inspector wants to hear him now, wants to hear all his moans and mumbles and noises of pleasure... and maybe get him undone even more.   
He is panting himself, giving a deep-throated groan with every thrust, as his fingers clench into the pillow under Mycroft's head, messing it up but he doesn't give a damn at the moment.   
He let's Mycroft drive him to more force, triggered by the tight grip of his lover's tights around his waist, holding him steadily.  
"Mycroft..." and "Fuck" is all he can ineloquently manage... but this part comes a lot from him now.  
Mycroft doesn't disappoint when it comes to vocalizing his pleasure. He sighs and moans and grunts and whimpers and keens and swears and cries Greg's name with each thrust. He's an active participant, rocking his hips against his inspector, and he delights in each sweet stroke; Greg's length, girth, curve, and the angle he's at all contribute to the intense pleasure Mycroft feels, sliding across that delicious spot that had pitched him over the edge earlier.   
One of his hands, both of which had been clutching Greg's muscular back, moves to cup the back of his own knee, lifting one leg up to his chest and changing the angle that Greg slides in. It changes the angle just enough to increase the pressure on that sweet spot deep within Mycroft, so that he's crying out even louder now, body tightening around Greg's length. At the rate they seem to be going, Mycroft's on the fast-track to another world-rocking orgasm and in the back of his lust-addled brain he hopes that Greg will be coming with him over the edge this time.   
Actually Lestrade is on the right track to just doing that, or rather Mycroft is, clenching around him so tightly, the inspector can do nothing but gasp. His arms were straightend again beside the other's shoulder, holding himself up while fucking his lover thoroughly through the mattress.  
When the angle changes and Mycroft, if possible, is becoming even louder, the inspector leans down and bites one of his hard nipples purposefully. But not long enough to let him come just yet. Lestrade is enjoying this way to much to let Mycroft slip away so soon. The other's too damn beautiful under him, winding, panting, sweating.

But as Mycroft's hand around his knee gets shaky, he grabs both of his legs with a throaty, passionate grunt and positions them over his shoulders, pressing closer because the angle is just right and lets him thrust deeper even more.   
But at this point, the detective inspector can't take it any longer. He can feel Mycroft coming close to the edge as he begins to tense, tightens around his lenght as he did around his fingers before and Lestrade needs no more than a few firm strokes to reach his orgasm. Head thrown back in please he cries out deep-throated before gritting his teeth and coming deep inside his lover.

When his legs get dragged up on Greg's shouders, Mycroft is almost undone right then and there. He grips his lover's arms tightly and cries out his name as he's fucked into oblivion, the angle allowing Greg to stroke that amazing spot deeply and repeatedly, drawing out another beautiful orgasm from Mycroft. He tightens around Greg's shaft and spills across his own belly, not caring about the mess at this point. 

The barrier of the condom prevents Mycroft from feeling Greg spill within him and he finds himself wishing he could have felt the warmth truly filling him, but he can still feel the final rough thrust, the throb, and the shudder of Greg's body as he finally reaches his peak. 

Mycroft absolutely collapses into a boneless heap on the bed, arms and legs splayed out in a thoughtless arrangement as both men finish. "Gregory. Oh, my darling. Mmh." is all he's able to muster for a long few minutes.

Lestrade feels his head spinning, foggy from the subsiding lust and the only word circling around his mind is 'Mycroft... Mycroft...'.  
They're both absolutely done and the inspector grants himself a little cooling-down time as he leans on his lover, chin on his shoulder and listening to their combined, rapid heartbeats.   
"God... geezus..", he's mumbling into Mycroft's neck, a smile on his lips. To be honest he isn't very keen to part himself from Mycroft all too soon although he feels he should probably better do so before things get messy. 

So after a short resting he heaves himself up, annoyed a bit of the shakiness of his arms and he pulls gently out of his lover, letting the condom carefully drop to the floor without bothering much. Being close to the other again is a much more important matter, but before he nestles himself against Mycroft, the detective inspector reaches for the tissue box sitting beside the bed. He puts it beside his lover, with a tender smile and begins to gently wipe Mycroft's belly with caring, fumbling with his other hand for the blanked to get them covered in warmth. 

Lestrade finds his breath slowing down soon, but anyhow his heartbeat isn't... and he feels the need to say something, searching Mycroft's eyes for the first time in a while.  
Mycroft is absolutely wasted from the intense coupling and whispers Greg's name in response to his own name falling from his lover's lips. He cradles Greg against him as the man rests his chin on his shoulder, Mycroft's fingers carding through sweaty hair and down his back, over his shoulders and across his sides, memorizing the delicious weight of Greg collapsed against him. 

As Greg hoists himself up, Mycroft grins and runs his hands down his lover's shaking arms. He draws in a breath and bites his lip as Greg withdraws, and he actually frowns a little at the sudden empty feeling. His smile returns though as he feels Greg gently wiping the sticky mess from his belly - They'll both need a proper shower in the morning, but for now... fuck it. He'll sleep just like this and not care because he'll be too busy being absorbed in the feel of his lover's arms around him. 

As Greg settles at his side and he tugs the duvet up over them, both men snuggling into the pillows facing each other, Greg's eyes are full of thoughts. Mycroft reaches out and touches his cheek tenderly, smiling at the man. "My darling detective. My beautiful lover. What are you thinking about?" 

The inspector doesn't blink for a particular long moment as he is studying Mycroft's face. "..Us" comes the plain and rather simple answer at last and it seems like he's trying to smile but it gets stuck somewhere in the middle, by surprise and only at twitch in the corner of his mouth gives him away.  
Mycroft's delicate eyebrow raises to that and this time Lestrade can't help but snort a grin. Yea... if he had needed the final prove, that would definitely be it. He is more than a little attracted to this man, and even if they got to know each other only a short while, it feels like forever.  
Its definitely not the first time the inspector had brought someone to his flat, had had a nice evening and someone to have fun with, but this feels different.  
Yea... usually he didn't so care much, but the fact that he doesn't want Mycroft to leave tomorrow is pretty significant and is actually telling himself a lot.. 

Lestrade in fact doesn't know what to say, really. For he's more the practical person and Mycroft is the speaker and somehow its good this way.. but the other is waiting and so he finally gives a capitulating but yet amused sigh and takes the other man's hand in a gentle grip and placing it over his heart.   
"There." Aware of the gesture and the beat still racing in his chest... "... take your credit."

Mycroft is struck dumb by the gesture. He knows exactly what it means, and his smile is undeniable.   
'Gregory... ' he says quietly. His palm presses his inspector's chest and he lets out a breath. "I suppose it's a fair trade... " he says softly. He leans in and kisses Greg gently, stroking the skin of his chest. He gives his lover a meaningful look, one that says 'you've got mine too.'

"I... Look forward to waking up with you in the morning, my darling." 

 

Lestrade guesses he can get used to 'darling' though he wasn't called that in a very long time. And Mycroft saying it really sound like he means it .. and something tickles inside his belly.   
The inspector is a bit more than bothered that it's actually sunday and this way they probably both have to work tomorrow. Besides he isn't even sure if the government has got something like a proper weekend.. but he wishes for Mycroft, and for himself. Next time they better go for a saturday.  
Next time?   
Lestrade eyes Mycroft closely and give himself a mental nod, yea next time.  
For now he reaches for the alarm on the nightstand and sets it one hour earlier than his regular waking-up time. That should hopefully do.   
He makes sure Mycroft sees it and as he didn't get any complains, Lestrade puts the annoying thing back on its stand. They have merely a few hours left, but fuck that, because it was worth it. 

Lestrade feels heavy from their coupling and Mycroft is so darn warm beside him.. clutching one arm around him, the gesture has a undeniable possessive touch. "Goo'night" comes the soft whisper before he drops off, snoring softly.

After such an intense and explosive night, Mycroft should be exhausted and driven to deep slumber by now. Instead, his Holmesian genetic aversion to sleep kicks in and he lays wide awake and watches Greg sleep as light from the street filters into the room. He lay propped on his elbow, Greg's warm arm over his side, their legs tangled together in the warmth of the duvet. Greg had kept a possessive arm curled around him the entire night, and Mycroft found himself deeply touched by the unconscious gesture. He needn't be possessive, though, because before Mycroft even consciously realized it, his heart had given itself to the detective inspector and there was nowhere else, with no one else, that he would ever feel more at home with. Because of those thoughts, he found himself dreading the coming of the dawn; he didn't want to leave this bed, these arms, this flat.

The dawn came, though, and the alarm was minutes away from sounding its shrill rising call. Mycroft bent and pressed his lips to the inspectors brow, vowing that this was only the first of many more nights and mornings like this.

 

The man at Mycroft's side stopped his slight snoring and frowned in his sleep, giving an incorehent grunt before he opens his eyes with effort. The few hours weren't hardy enough sleep and unlike the other Lestrade is anything but a morning person, that is obvious from just one closer look.   
"Uuuhrg.." he groans, intuitively reaching for the alarm and he blinks in drowsiness as he finds that the damn thing is actually quiet in his hand. Slowly he gets the connection, peeps to Mycroft and puts the alarm back after he'd made sure to turn it off.   
Lestrade's expression softens almost instantly when he's smiling at his lover - who is still there after this night - and reaches to stroke over his cheek. "Hey..."   
Yea he could definitely get used to that.. waking up with Mycroft in his arm, the warm fluttering feeling being the very first thing in the morning. 

The inspector's still looking rather undone though, hair messy and sticking out in every possible direction and his eyes a bit hazy - but nothing he isn't actually used to.. pretty much the same like after a night in the pub with mates, having too much beer and probably too much football also.   
Though this time the few glasses scotch, which he has had are hardly to blame... if anything than Lestrade's got a hangover from Mycroft - and that is actually a good thing, he presumes.   
Mycroft albeit looks still ridiculously presentable, aside from the slightes shadows under the man's eyes and the vibe of calm but happy exhaustion around him.   
Lestrade blinks some more and tries so come to his senses because being fully awake now means spending some valuably more time with Mycroft before work. "Ahm.. d'you want the shower first?"

 

Mycroft watches the transformation from overtired, sleepy, slightly hungover Greg to the Greg that recognizes and shares the same amazing memories as he has from the night before. He tips his head into Greg's touch and smiles, whispering a pleasant 'good morning' to his lover and leaning across to brush his lips across Greg's tenderly. He's beautiful, with the watery morning light filtering through the window behind him, his hair everywhere, his eyes heavily lidded with sleep and that lazy smile on his face. It cements Mycroft's desire to stay and it makes that delicious flutter in his chest that he's rapidly allowing himself to associate with the inspector. 

At his question, Mycroft smirks. He'd love nothing more than to climb into the shower with Greg, but there probably isn't much room for two grown men in the small bathroom the inspector's bachelor flat is equipped with. Even if there were room, there wouldn't be much time for what Mycroft can easily imagine himself doing in there. 

"You go on first, love. I'll only need a cursory shower, since I'll be going home before the office. I can't imagine Anthea's face if she saw me in denim and a tee shirt and trainers." He drops a kiss on Greg's mouth before turning and getting up, tugging on his jeans. "I'll see if I can't pull us a little breakfast together. Won't be that fantastic quiche, but I can make toast and coffee just fine." He holds his hand out to Greg to help him out of bed, kissing his shoulder and ushering him toward the bathroom before helping himself to the kitchen. 

 

"Ah.. coffee would be marvelous!" comes the amused snort as a reply. 

Lestrade literally pouts as Mycroft tugs on his jeans. But he gets out of bed with a significant grunt, before rummaging in his closet for a new pair of socks, pants, trousers and stuff. It's monday, so he has to go to the Yard. And going to the Yard means, he has to put on something formal. So another gray-blue buttoned shirt it is and plain but fashionable black trousers.

Actually Lestrade would fancy to see Anthea's face over a casually dressed Mycroft, for that woman barely shows any reactions beside general disinterest and some coolish kick-ass politeness which had told him clearly that he hasn't got a chance on her in a million years when they first met.   
Giving Mycroft a playful grin, as he is attented to the door, he's a bit grumpy though that he won't be able to watch his lover in his kitchen. And aside from that.. would it not actually be his job to make breakfast for the him. Considering that he'd been the active the other night... but then he comes to the conclusion that this tradition is utter crap, especially for him and Mycroft and that whoever invented that stupid rule can go to hell... Besides he'd actually fancy a holmesian breakfast very much. 

When he's in the bathroom, drawing the shower curtain, his mind begins to wander to last evening and the night... and like this he's staying under the stream until it gets bloody cold and he finally remembers to reach for the shampoo and the lotion. Ack.. and he definitely needs a proper shave after, feeling like a silvergrey hedgehog already. 

Mycroft busies himself in the kitchen while Greg showers and he can only barely resist the urge to join him, regardless of time and space. He relents, though, and willpower wins over. He turns on the stereo, listening for a moment to the news before switching to the disc Greg had running the night before. He makes his way to the kitchen and sets up the kettle for coffee and digs through the pantry and fridge to find the makings of breakfast. He's not quite as skilled in the kitchen as Greg, but he isn't the complete blundering idiot he puts himself off as and before long he's got a proper breakfast of eggs and toast all set up. 

He'd lost himself in the cooking process a bit, remembering the highlights of last night's romp. He smiled at the memory, the exchange of kisses and whispers and touches and how far they'd both come. After laying the table and checking his watch he'd noticed that Greg was taking an extraordinary amount of time in the shower. Surely there'd be no hot water left by now. He supposed it was possible that his lover was simply having a similar recollection of memories and lost track of time, but he couldn't help worrying a bit. He padded across the flat and stuck his head into the bathroom door, needing to check. 

"How d'you take your coffee, Gregory?" He asks into the room, the shower still running. He didn't want to come off as the worrying sort, so he decided to ask the necessary question as his pretense for checking in. "Got breakfast all laid out whenever you're done." 

Lestrade doesn't really hear the door but he does hear Mycroft's voice tough and immediately turns the shower off, its mostly cold by now anyways. And then he doesn't hesistate to draw the curtain aside and grin at the other broadly.   
"No sugar, one sip of milk for me, please." Casually grabbing for his tower he starts to rub his hair before the ties the thing around his hips and climbs out of the shower cubicle. It really is a bit small but if Mycroft ever would dare ask to join him in there, the detective inspector undoubtedly would have said yes. Yea, like hell, actually.   
But Mycroft's concern isn't at all wrong. They dont have much time now and letting Lestrade head off to the Yard without a proper breakfast isn't really a good idea. He's always the first man in charge when he's getting there in the morning, unlocking the doors to the office, turning on the lights and as his usual very first duty - turn on the coffee machine before the rest of the lots arrive.

Lestrade smells of soap and lotion and is actually still dripping wet as he comes to the door, smiling and there is nothing Mycroft can do to avoid a quick kiss to his cheek before Lestrade retreats again. "In a sec. Just lemme do something to this mess in my face, can't turn up in the Yard looking like a bear, can I?"

Mycroft's mouth waters at the sight of Greg stepping naked from the shower and drying himself in plain view, and it's everything Mycroft can do to not reach in and grab him up, naked and wet, and have his way with the inspector. Time is getting to be of the essense though, and he wants Greg to be able to eat before going to work. The kiss to his cheek is a lovely treat, the warmth of Greg's skin against his, and the rough bristle of his stubbled chin and lips tickling him. He reaches and pulls Greg back to him before he gets too far away and kisses him propely, whispering "Don't be long", before letting him go.   
After a proper shave and a quick tooth brushing Lestrade's off the bathroom, neatly clothed and ready for a good breakfast with Mycroft.   
He's actually trying to tiptoe when heading for the kitchen, maybe he can catch the other from behind in an enormous bear hug, but he hadn't reckoned with the fine holmesian senses and of course he was spotted nearly right off. 

A short time after they sit opposite each other at the small kitchen table and enjoy Mycroft's work. Lestrade's appetite after last night is expectedly immense and he's stuffing himself with five toasts and a couple of eggs before he's finally satisfied and leans backwards to sip on his second cup of coffee. He's actually surprised how Mycroft just did the right amount of milk and stuff and how it tastes even better as when he handled the coffee machine by himself. He eyes the pack of coffee on the board, still open, but it's definitely his brand.

Their feet tangle under the table top as they talk about trivia, laugh about job anecdotes and the detective inspector tries with heart and soul not to let his gaze wander to the clock on the wall. But time is running, even if you don't look and finally he knows it time to usher Mycroft to the door, because he wants him to get a proper shower and a new set of clothes too before he drives to the office.   
And so, his heart literally drops, as Mycroft stands up from his chair and he follows, feeling a slight pressure in his chest that fucking won't go away, even as he tries very hard to just ignore it for the moment.

It warms Mycroft's heart to see Greg eating so heartily of the simple breakfast he'd made. The time they spend together, eating and laughing and touching and enjoying each other's company feels so natural and so right and so perfect that it makes his heart ache to think of leaving. 

Since he purposely left his at home, Mycroft uses Greg's mobile to ring Anthea and have her send his car around to pick him up; She is pissed that he disappeared for twelve hours and Greg can hear her giving Mycroft a rash of grief over the phone from where he sits across the kitchen table. Mycroft calmly tells her that England hadn't fallen in his absence and if she really needed him, she would have known how to find him. 

He explains over the phone as he reaches for Greg's hand, threading their fingers together, that he was having a nice evening out, one he deserved, and perhaps she should take one as well. They still end the call on tense terms, but Mycroft simply can't be bothered. His car is on the way, and his time with Greg is coming to a close and all he wants is just a little more time.One more touch, one more kiss, one more embrace, just one more moment to enjoy each other before parting ways. Once the car arrives, they both must part ways and Mycroft is absolutely miserable for it. 

Mycroft Holmes is a fiercely independent, self-made man who never gave any energy over to emotion, to feelings. He's clever, calculating, and unflappable in any situation. He's known commonly as the Ice Man in the various circles he controls. In the presence of Gregory Lestrade, though, all of that goes by the wayside. Maybe it's the company, maybe it's the contact, maybe it's the pure, undeniable infatuation that has developed between them. Whatever the case, Mycroft finds it absolutely impossible to let go of the detective when they're preparing to leave his flat. But, the time comes and they kiss goodbye on the sidewalk before Mycroft pours himself into the black Jaguar to take him home. Before the car has left the curb, he has gathered up his mobile - left conveniently by his assistant - and has fired off a text. 

What on earth have you done to me? I'm missing you already. Counting down the hours until I can see you again.   
xx   
M.


	5. Chapter 5

_What on earth have you done to me? I'm missing you already. Counting down the hours until I can see you again._

_xx_

 When the damn black car arrived, Lestrade had only just resisted the urge to shove Mycroft against the cool metal and snog him properly for the very last time - and screw everyone who was probably watching. 

Instead he'd tried very hard to keep a straight face when Mycroft disappeared behind the toned windows, out of his sigh and the jaguar drove off.  Naturally he hasn't his phone on him in this moment and so the way back up the staircase to his flat is hell. And when his mobile beeps under a message a short moment later, it could literally be everyone.

  
On the Yard they've agreed to the unwritten rule to grant everyone a proper weekend without taking work home. So no phone calls, no messages or e-mails from Sgt. Donovan, Gregson, Dimmock or just everyone until monday. Only Sherlock is, of course, the exception to that rule because he doesn't give a shit what time it is when he texts Lestrade concerning a case.. and the usual following message by John, telling him _so sorry_ , isn't really helping that.   
  
But this time it isn't about work. Lestrade tips the message, reads, and it really does something to the heavy lump in his chest... lifting it up a bit. He reads the text for at least three times and really is planning on writing something back, but he can't think of anything brainy and eventually skips that to later.   
As much as he likes his thoughts to stay full of Mycroft in this moment, monday is usually a real pain in the ass workwise and he needs to concentrate. Beside his lover's text he's already recieved a message from Donovan.. and there is something from Sherlock. Dear lord...

  
Lestrade feels even more intimidated to open it than usual, because really... _if_ Sherlock is just half as clever as he is normally... well, Lestrade doesn't really fancy him to figur he's shagging his brother, but he can't really do anything to prevent that coming, can he? Hopefully Sherlock won't show up in the Yard too early..  
  
The concerned half-smile is to stay on his face when the detective inspector takes the remaining time he's got to clean up the flat a bit. The dishes from their breakfast are still there.. and his bed needs a serious redo.    
So Lestrade keeps himself busy until he leaves for work half an hour later, getting into his own car and mobile in his pocket.. with still not a single darn clue what to text to his new lover.

 Mycroft was still pilfering through the mountain of emails and text messages on his blackberry when his car pulled up to his unassuming but elegant home in Belgravia. England hadn't fallen, but the way people came to him with every little issue, it was damn close. Six texts from Sherlock alone, each one progressively more suspicious of his whereabouts. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, because he just knew his clever little brother would have this clandestine encounter with Lestrade sussed out by the end of the week - if not the day.   

He sent his driver off to run a few errands for him while he went inside to shower, shave, and change, putting himself into his smart three-piece suit like normal. His shower took far longer than it usually did; The detective inspector hadn't left his thoughts during the entire drive home and he couldn't ignore the stirring he felt at the memory of their night and morning together.  

Once back in the car on his way to the office, Mycroft found himself checking his phone every nine seconds to see if Greg had texted or e-mailed. He shook his head and gave himself a mental slap; _The man is a police officer, and he's busy. Stop acting like a teenage girl, Mycroft Holmes,_  he told himself. _He'll text when he's damn good and ready and not a second sooner._

He arrived at the office, finally, and was able to bury himself in putting out fires and solving minor and major crises across the UK for the majority of the day, but in the quiet times between meetings and conference calls, his thoughts went back to one thing and one thing only... 

  
Lestrade arrives at the Yard just in time and of course there is a ridiculous stack of piles already waiting on his desk. Donovan's doing, because there is also a handwritten note beside it, explaining the facts. Geez, he hates mondays. Mondays are work-up-what-the-shit-had-happend-on-weekend days and he usually has to go through the reports of his colleague from the weekend shift, because no brainy bloke around here seems to be able to hand in a report by himself without his second oppinion on the matter.   
But that's okay, because Lestrade has no problem with people relying on him, really.  Stricly speaking, he likes it.   
  
Hours pass, the Yard's office rooms are full with police men (and women) doing their jobs, having phone calls and spreading out for operations, because London's a damn big place and their field reaches from the smaller robbery to the usual body someone's found in the Thames.

  
Lestrade is very eager to get the paperwork done, so he has time to take a break and - finally - send Mycroft some lines.   
But how life goes, just as the detective inspector has finished his last report, Sgt. Donovan enters his office and summons him to join them on a case.   
Lestrade sighs. He's never eager to have a corpse before lunch, but he comforts himself with the idea of some doughnuts on his way back.

  
And when it's finally lunch break he can't help but smile, as he heads to the park with his box of doughnuts... because it's a sunny day and indulging in reminiscences clearly seems like the perfect plan.   
So, as he's sitting on the bench - their bench - the inspector suddenly gets the right idea for texting his lover. Mobile in one hand, a doughnut in the other, he types.  
And so, a short while after, Mycroft's mobile receives the following:  
  
 _I'm where we started.. take a guess. Sun, old grannies with pigeons and no bagels this time, pitty. But one thing is missing. Can you tell which one?  
Fuck me.. missing you like hell. X_  
\- G  
  
Lestrade spends his entire break on the bench, eyes closed and sunbathing his face. His thought are with Mycroft, all the time ... and he thinks about next weekend (probably? hopefully..) and that he would love to take the other out on a actual date, because they've missed that entirely.    
He knows some decent scene clubs and bars in Soho, but he isn't really sure if Mycroft would be in for something like that... Going public is somewhat risky, especially for someone in the other's position.. and the other thing is, he doesn't want to scare him away by the thought of drinking.. and dancing in a bulk of manical blokes. Though he could surely deal with the latter for Mycroft and keep an close eye on him for the time they're there.   
  
Meanwhile Anthea enters Mycroft's office, bringing him the desired cup of coffee, even if this is clearly _not_ within her field of duty and there is still some bother concerning her boss's whereabouts over the last 12 hours. But as he sees him smile, _actual_ smiling over his mobile, which is a rare enough thing, all Anthea can do is quirk her eyebrow to a meaningful smirk.   
"You seem pleased." Even though pleased is not really the best way to put it.. more like actually _happy._

 "I  _am_  pleased. I had a nice relaxing evening with a dear friend," he responds non-commitally to Anthea before sipping his coffee. "You haven't had a dear friend since the day you hired me. You did, however, have me send your car to Detective Inspector Lestrade's home." She said, crossing her arms over her chest. She fixs him with a look of scrutiny and he returns the look a bit crossly.  "Especially after he looks after my brother, I consider Gregory Lestrade to be a friend, an ally, and an asset. We had  nice dinner and a bottle of scotch between us, and I spent the night. What of it, Anthea?" he sits back in his chair, crossing his legs and folding his hands on his knee in a way only Mycroft can execute. He was silently challenging her to go on with her inquiry, knowing bloody well that she wouldn't.  It was none of her business, and she knew better than to push the issue.  

Anthea, dissatisfied with the response but knowing she would get nothing further from her boss, turned on her heel and walked out of the office and back to her tiny little Blackberry-shaped world.  Mycroft let out a sigh and released his tense, commanding posture, scrubbing a hand over his face. He hated being so secretive with Anthea, she was his most trusted aide and there was precious little about his life that she wasn't privy to. It was unlike her to inquire about his private life - but then, he hadn't dropped off the radar for twelve hours before, either.  He would tell her when the time was right. She would, after all, be incredibly important in helping him keep the wildfire to a minimum if word of his relationship with Greg went public before they were ready. 

After a few minutes, Mycroft picked his phone up and read the text a few times. It made him smile more each time. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard of the phone, pondering what to say in response _._  
  
 _Missing you terribly. Only been a few hours._  
Not sure I can wait until the weekend to see you again.  
My place tonight?   
Thinking of you constantly.  
xx  
M.

 

Lestrade was already back in the office when he got the message, a joyful smile on this lips. And he texted Mycroft back, before even sitting down at his desk again, telling him that fuck yea he would like to very much.  
  
But later, unfortunately both of them would come to remember that having a job at the Yard and in the police sometimes means no finishing time at all. And Lestrade is even more furious about this as he's known as a man of his word. And as much as he loves his job, sometimes he hates it though, for being a real pain in the ass.  
It was later that evening, as a young poice man came into the Yard. Lestrade had been so glad to have all the paperwork left from the weekend finally done and mentally he was already with Mycroft - trying to imagine his house, his lifestyle.   
But this lad came into the office, panting and awfully exhausted and asking for help. His brother had been missing for several days now and Lestrade was actually aware of that case and he knew that colleagues were looking for the man all over London already.   
But the bloke's face was pale and the detective inspector frowned, only slightly looking up as Sgt. Donovan entered behind the man. Her face irritated as obviously nobody had noticed him getting in.   
  
"Please... you have to help me, please. My brother was missing.. for days, I know but I-I, er, received a letter.. and I think he's.. is trying to kill himself somewhere. Please I need help from the police, will you come with me?"  
  
And that was basically the reason Lestrade found himself sitting in a police car on a operation a few minutes later, face dark and staring at his watch. Damn that, why some bloody git had to get the idea of killing himself now of all times. Sometimes coincidence was ridiculously cruel and while preventing someone to break their neck is never a pleasent business - he finds that it sucks even more when your're actually supposed to see your date.   
He hated jumpers, no matter if they'd do it off a building, into the Thames or in front of a bloody train.   
  
The young lad beside Lestrade is all nerves and he feels real pitty for him.. but actually all they can do it search now. They've got a few clues, nothing much they're used to work with this. But the definitely hardest part is taking the mobile now and telling Mycroft that he won't be able to see him tonight... because of his work, to keep it out of detail.   
His face is plain, as he hits send and he can see Sgt. Donovan watching him through the rearview mirror with concern. So the detective inspector lets his hand with the mobil fall in his lap and puts his chin in the other hand, elbow resting on the frame as he's staring out of the window into the dark.

 Mycroft frowned and sighed as he received the message from Greg, but it was really for the best - He was hours past his normal, ideal time to go home, and had spent the past two hours trying to quietly keep a war from breaking out between two minor middle-eastern countries because of a stupid misunderstanding. 

 After getting confirmation in the form of a vibrant 'hell yeah' that Greg wanted to see him again, Mycroft had spent the majority of the day becoming increasingly anxious for the day to come to a close. When the word came across his desk at the zero-hour that a conflict was imminent, it was a sucker punch, but one he absolutely was forced to weather.

 

_'Might be a bit late, conflicts of the world don't stop just because I've got a date, apparently. Miss you. xx- M'_

He'd sent at half-five. A sympathetic acknowledgement had been sent in response from Greg, who'd also picked up a bit of last minute work it sounded like, and it gave him a little bit of much-needed comfort and respite from the pressure mounting in his workspace. 

 Now half-nine, neither man had been able to get away from work and Mycroft could tell from the message he'd just gotten from Greg that the inspector's situation had gone a bit dodgy. The language he'd used was plain and lacking the brightness and affection of previous messages, but Mycroft took no offense; He'd simply used his Holmesian deduction skills to figure that not only had the situation gone pear-shaped, but his beloved Inspector was stuck somewhere with people who he'd rather not have knowing about their relationship, at least not yet.  He sent his response, hoping it was vague enough for prying eyes but that Greg would read the double-meaning. 

 

_Have a delicate situation regarding a missing person, requesting your assistance and input as soon as you're available.  
MH_

 

He smirked to himself and hit _send._  

 Lestrade had the mobile instantly back in his hand as the device vibrated in his pocket. He felt anxious a bit, knowing Mycroft for not long enough yet to tell how the other would deal with a declining. But they both were pretty much aware of their situation as they started this game and Lestrade usualy tries to stay in game until he's got no turns left.

A snort comes from him, as he reads the text. But it's not amused as it would seem, rather the opposite.  Mycroft's words make the lump in his chest feel heavy. Some sort of ridiculous longing, he can tell and the detective inspector mentally swears at the  bloody fucker who keeps him busy .. because he's somethere out there, trying to end it all and giving his brother a fucking time, instead of facing life and try to.. just manage somehow. Lestrade fails to understand something like that, he really does. Giving in is always just too easy.  
  
When he's sure that Donovan has her eyes back on the road again and the bloke beside him is staring dumbly on his feet, he textes back, word a bit hasty and uneven yea, he feels helpless at this moment.  
  
 _Sorry, really am. Can't honestly say when available again. This is a tough one, bugger. Don't want you waiting for me all night, please dont... feel bad about this already. Promise I will text back ASAP.  
G_

He had written his full initials GL at first, like he does to anybody else, but deleted the L then because that was formal shit and he really didn't need that.

  
At this point the detective inspector had hopes left that they would solve the case quickly, find that guy and let his broher smack some sense into him.. but as it went midnight Lestrade lost that hope and ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily he felt tired from the lack of sleep .. and was in a way not even able to be pissed because their client looked so much worse and at least he knwe that his beloved one was save and sound somewhere at home. And that had to count for something..   
  
When the clocked said bloody 2 AM they finally got somethere and found the bloke. It turned out the gun in his hand was't even loaded and Lestrade felt the urged to smash his head against something solid. He was fucking tired now, pissed and overall he felt guilty. His thumb hovered over the short text, not sure if he should send and probably disturb Mycroft's sleep with the shit but then he did, already on his way home.  
  
 _I am so sorry. Good night. xx  
G _

 Mycroft read the initial response a few times while he was on a conference call. He scowled at his phone, mentally cussing the person causing Greg to run so late, and the idiots in these two warring countries that couldn't put their issues and grievances aside for just one night. He knew the minute the casefile came across his desk that he was in for a long night.

  _You needn't apologize, my dear detective,_

 _you are a busy man with a very important job._  
You have my utmost respect + admiration.  
Still at the office, myself. No rush.  
Just please be safe.  
I'll be waiting patiently.   
xx M


	6. Chapter 6

It was almost one in the morning when Mycroft finally considered the international situation resolved and was able to gather his belongings and go home. He hadn't heard from Greg again the rest of the night and, figuring him busy, Mycroft didn't want to bother him at work.  He went home, showered, changed into soft cotton pajamas, and retired to his study. In true Holmes style, he wasn't tired enough for sleep. And so he sat by the fire a while, nursing a tumbler of scotch and trying to let his mind decompress;  The report he would have to write and sign off on in the morning loomed over his head, but it paled in comparison to the longing and worry that filled his mind and heart, thinking of his inspector out in the streets of London somewhere, putting himself on the line for the protection of his city.  It made him proud, and yet it twisted his guts at the same time. If something happened to Gregory, who would get the call? His ex wife, probably, and that put a sour taste in Mycroft's mouth but he shook his head and cast the thoughts away entirely. It wasn't his business or his place inserting himself into Greg's life like that, not yet, not when everything was still new. It did nothing to ease the worry, though. 

 

Greg's apology text came at the text came at the ungodly hour of quarter-of-three in the morning and it jostled Mycroft from his thoughts. His brow knitted in concern. Whatever had happened, the case had obviously taken its toll on the inspector and it made Mycroft's heart clench. Despite the hour, he didn't think twice about responding. His messages went to Greg's phone in rapid succession as his fingers slid over the keypad. 

 

_Please don't apologize. You've done nothing wrong._

_xx M_

_  
I'm relieved that you're safe. Thought of you all night._

_xx M_

 

_My invitation stands, whenever you are up for a visit._

_xx M_

 

The last one, he hesitates on, but sends it anyway.   
  
 _Scotch and a big bed are not nearly as warm without someone to share them with._

_xx M_

 

  
Lestrade was sitting in the driving seat of his car, engine not yet started, as his mobile won't stop vibrating under all these texts. And he huffs a chuckle in astonishment. He can dimly remember Sherlock saying something along the lines that Mycroft usually never texts.. not if he can talk. Lestrade takes that the exception to the rule and somehow he feels honoured...and so warm around the heart.   
The last message lets him smirk .. and leaves him fairly torn between driving home, have a shower and get the sleep he desperately needs so much right now, and Mycroft.  
  
At this moment Sgt. Donovan passes his open window and she's really looking as exhausted as he is, but she smiles and Lestrade can't escape the feeling that she actually _knows_ something, because that's the thing with women. Something quite scary Lestrade never could make sense of.  
But somehow she looks like as if she were about to tell him to stay at home tomorrow... which she doesn't.  
"Good one, sir. Gladly nobody was harmed today. "  
"Yea."   
Actually Lestrade had been damn serious when he gave that interview about the serial killings back then, telling people not to commit suicide. And at least tonight things turned out the way the inspector wished for all their cases to end.   
Donovan nods in understanding, looking no more concerned but sympathetic. But she isn't verbalizing anything awkward.. instead just saying "Good night, Greg" before wandering of to her own car.   
  
After that, Lestrade sits behind the wheel for a second, pondering, before the engine uproars and he drives of in too high speed, decision finally made.   
  
Twenty minutes later the melodic doorbell of Mycroft's flat sounds, letting Lestrade blink. And he still does that as the other opens the door, sees him standing there worn out, skin still sweaty a bit from the previous case and he smells of work and got awfully dark shadows around the eyes but his smile is broadly, showing teeth and he hesistates before lifting his hand with the single rose, holding it out to Mycroft awkwardly.   
The poor thing is looking ridiculously beaten as well, head and leaves hanging  a bit in serious need of some water and it's apparent Lestrade had been driving through the whole bloody streets in order to catch the very last flower shop which would be able (or desperate enough) to sell him something like that before closing the doors.  
  
"Hey... " His voice is a soft, low mumble. "Sorry, being really late..." What he doesn't say is, that he nearly knocked down a drunk, a straying cat and several red lights in order to get here.

 

 

Mycroft is pleasantly surprised by the doorbell. He had hoped that Greg would go home and get some much-needed rest, but he also secretly hoped that his own need to see the inspector was reciprocal.  He got up immediately at the sound of the bell and made his way through the house to the door and what he saw when the door opened made his heart swell and break at the same time.  Exhausted, rumpled, in need of a meal and a shower and a stiff drink and a long sleep, but still incredibly handsome and smiling a smile that Mycroft knew was just for _him,_  and holding out a red rose. Between Gregory and the beaten up flower, he wasn't sure which one looked more pitiful and he was infinitely charmed by the display. 

 

"Gregory, you've no idea how good it does my heart to lay eyes on you. You look exhausted, darling, come inside." He took the rose, touching it to his nose and breathing deeply of the sweet aroma before opening his arms to the inspector, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek and ushering him inside.  He guides Greg through a corridor and off to his study, where the fireplace is still blazing, and gestures for his lover to sit in the plush, high-backed chair he'd previously occupied, then pours him a drink, handing it to him. 

 

"Drink and relax," He says as he sits on the ottoman in front of his inspector, one hand rested on Greg's knee.  "If you're hungry, I can warm you up a bit of food, if you've need or want of a shower, you're welcome to mine, and if it's just a comfortable bed you're aching for, I'll happily lead you the right direction. Say the word, and whatever you need is yours." 

 

The detective inspector gives a soft grunt, and if possible, sinks even deeper into the plush. It's still warm a bit from Mycroft sitting here a while before and he isn't entirely sure how to get up any time soon again.  He gulps down the drink, feels the warm alcohol tickle and burn pleasantly in his throat all way down to his stomach and it really helps against the weariness.  
Or maybe it's Mycroft.  
Yea, this would also be an accurate answer to the question of what he needs at the moment.  
Seeing the other again was worth every damn job he had to do today. And Mycroft looks really neat in that, unquestionable expensive, pajama  Basically Lestrade can't turn away his eye from the other and neither does his smile fade.   
"Not sure if I can get my ass up again soon, to be honest.."  
  
His smile widens warmly and also a bit cheeky as he reaches to put the empty glass on the delicate small table beside them.   
"But something to eat sounds marvelous" he frowns slightly "if it isn't too much trouble. I kno' it's bloody after 3 already..." He sighs but isn't actually surprised as Mycroft already half rises to his feet at his words. But before he can get away, he inspector catches his hand and draws him closer to place a soft kiss on his lips, whispering "Thank you".  
As the other moves away from him he feels almost sorry for having said anything about food. But hopefully, Mycroft won't be long.   
  
For the time he's wating, Lestrade's absolutely intrigued by the fireplace Mycroft has got. An actual fireplace...  The inspector is literally thrilled by that, for he always had wished to have one in his flat. If Mycroft's ever planing to move him from here, he has to come with something really good...

 

It's only the fourth time they've seen each other in a non-professional setting and only the second time they've seen each other in what would be considered an intimate setting. That being said, it feels deliciously domestic to welcome Gregory at the door, set him up in the study with a stiff drink and prepare him a meal to ease his weary soul.  It's a feeling that makes that sweet twisting ache in his chest become even more prominent. 

 

After Greg pulls him for the brief kiss, Mycroft touches his cheek and ruffles his hair and makes his way across the house to the modern kitchen. One of the luxuries of his lifestyle is that he has the ability to have a cook that comes in a few days a week to prepare meals that he can easily heat up since he works such strange hours. He pulls a mostly-assembled sandwich out of the fridge and heats up the panin press, and within a few minutes he's grilled a chicken and mozzarella sandwich with sun-dried tomatoes and basil pesto that he puts on a small plate. He pulls a bottle of water from the fridge and walks back out to the study, where he finds Greg has fallen asleep where he sits. The poor thing has his chin slumped against his chest and his arms drooped off of the arm rests and as much as Mycroft _hates_  the idea of waking him, Greg's not going to be incredibly sore if he stays there much longer. 

 

Making an executive decision, Mycroft sets the sandwich and bottle of water on the bar at the side of the room and sits down in front of Greg, a warm hand resting gently on his chest. "Gregory," he whispers. "Come on, love, wake up, let's get some food in you and get you off to bed." His long, slender fingers stroke the inspector's cheek and as bleary eyes open, Mycroft smiles at him gently. "Sit up for us, darling, I've got a sandwich and some water for you, and then it's straight to bed." 

 

Lestrade firstly opens only one eye, not actually awake yet but then the second follows and he can stifle a yawn only with force of will, looking at Mycroft with a blurry view. "Oh" he manages, looking around and trying to sit upright, which is hard enough when everything around you is plush. He awkwardly clears his throat a bit. "Sorry, hope I wasn't drooling on your chair or sumthin'..."  Not to mention the snoring. He knows that he does that. Or at least he used to sometime..  
The man scratches the back of his neck, but as Mycroft mentions the food, he can't help but grin and peer around.. because something is smelling ridiculously tasty here.   
Lestrade isn't actually sure if he'd probably missed Mycroft leaving the flat to get him something, because this sandwich rather doesn't look as if it came right out of a fridge. But he's too hungry too ask. And when Mycroft hands him both, he eats the delicious sandwich in one turn and nearly drains half of the waterbottle before he's finally satisfied - and looking much better than before.   
"Hah.. I needed that. Haven't had something since lunch break. And the fricking bagels I had disappeared into thin air all too fast."  
  
He takes a few more sips before the water bottle goes back to the floor beside the chair, carefully. Alright, Mycroft had said something about bed. And bed actually sounds pretty welcoming, but to be honest, he doesn't want to leave the fireplace. And to be even more precisely he doesn't even want to move one inch right now.  
Maybe only to grab Mycroft and pull him into his lap, but that would probably be a bad idea, because the chair hasn't room enough for two people to be comfortable.   
So eventually he just unceremoniously slips off the chair, pushing a few of Mycroft's work files to the ground by accident, as he reaches for his lover and they end up on the small but surprisingly soft carpet Mycroft's got in front of the fireplace.   
Lestrade can be stubborn, he's been always like that and sleeping on the floor is not really something new since he was a youngster. Only problem is that Mycroft might start arguing now, but he thinks he's got an idea to prevent that from coming.  
One strong but somewhat lazy arm comes around Mycroft's shoulders, pulling him close for a kiss, before Lestrade mumbles "Let's stay here.. please."  
  
And so they do. There is a blanket sitting beside the chair which comes to be of use and some time later they sit in a close heap in front of the fire, in comfortable, peaceful silence, resting. And eventually, Lestrade comes to rest with his head in Mycroft's lap, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest.. doozing quietly for the very first time.

 

All the years Mycroft has lived in this home, he's never slept in front of the fireplace before. He's dozed off in his chair briefly, but he's never considered sleeping on the rug and it pleases him to no end that the rug he selected to lay before the hearth is actually quite comfortable to sit and recline on. It doesn't take long, half an hour and some sweet nothings exchanged and a few longing kisses, and Greg is fast asleep with his head on Mycroft's thigh. 

 

The elder Holmes watches him sleep for an unknown amount of time, slowly sliding his fingers through Greg's short hair. The tension and exhaustion that his beloved inspector wore on his face upon his arrival slowly fade away as he descends into a deep slumber and Mycroft finds it charming and very, very appealing that the man trusts him enough to let his guard down and completely relax. It's something that Mycroft can see them doing regularly, if he lets himself have a moment to consider their future together.

Gradually the weight of the day and the scotch in his system mingle with the weight of the man against him and the heat of the fireplace and he finds himself growing drowsy.  Carefully, he lifts Greg's head from his lap and moves to lay down next to him, letting Greg pillow his head on his bicep and placing a small kiss on the inspector's brow.  

  
The next morning finds them snuggled together in front of the cooled down fireplace. It's early yet but Lestrade wakes from his usual working routine and blinks around lazily until he spots Mycroft, still sleeping. He can't help but smile and caress the other man's arm gently without waking him up. So, even a Holmes needs sleep sometimes. The thought has something comforting, warming a certain spot in his heart and the inspector takes himself a few minutes and just watches.  
This is a real rare occasion, he knows. Probably it will mostly be the other way round, but that's fine.  
Mycroft looks adorably peaceful when he sleeps, nothing like the whole country laying on his shoulders, and Lestrade wonders if he can, maybe, lift that burden for a while.. just sometime.   
  
He tries to be very silent when he reaches into his pocket to fumble out his mobil. And there is this annoying morning hard-on, he manages to ignore quite well... even if it's a bit difficult with Mycroft snuggled so near.  
No text on his phone yet, good thing. And so he sends Donovan a single line, in which he tells her he will be later today, so she has to make the coffee this time.  Sure folks can handle. Before he drives to the Yard he has to get home to fix himself up a bit, but now there's still time... and Mycroft budges beside him.  
Lestrade bends down a little, to nibble on his lover's cheek. Now the freckles are clearly visible, without any concealing make up and Lestrade feels his heart jump stupidly. Moreover he can't help the grin on his face as he fumbles under the blanket, reaching for Mycroft's slim waist and tickles softly with his fingertips.

 

It's a rare day when Mycroft allows himself a deep sleep. On average, he manages a few hours every other day, and those few hours are usually interrupted by e-mails and texts and calls of urgent importance.  If asked, he wouldn't be able to remember the last time he dreamed. He does dream this night, though, warm and happy and safe with his inspector draped over him and the warmth of the fireplace enveloping them both like a warm blanket.  He dreams of warm whispers and soft touches and dinners shared and texts exchanged and all the lovely, simple things that being with Greg Lestrade inspires.  

 

The feel of fingertips on his cheek and the weight of a solid, warm body on top of him bring him from slumber. Instead of being upset that he's pulled from his dreams, a lazy smile creases his lips as dreams give way to an even sweeter reality. He hums softly and lifts an arm to cradle Greg's head against his; He's already half-hard from the lovely dream he'd been having, and Greg's sharp, lovely teeth on his cheek bring him to full arousal in a matter of seconds. His hand slides down and massages the back of Greg's neck before venturing further down his shirt-clad back, and down to settle on the curve of his backside. 

 

He squirms a bit at the tickling fingers at his hip. The touch sends a jolt right to his groin, and he chuckles, his voice a low, sleep-thick rumble against Greg's ear. "Keep that up and you'll not be going to work at all today, Gregory." 

   
  
"That a threat..?" Lestrade purrs into Mycroft's ear. He clings closer to the other, putting the arm fully around his waist and leans over him. Of course he can feel Mycroft's need through the thin fabric of his payamas, because the light denim is barely able to hide anything,  and the sensation lets his own stomach tingle.. makes him feel heaten up.  
They may not have much time, but Lestrade can't even think of letting go of Mycroft now. They're both still sleepy a bit.. and this makes it somehow even more appealing, more.. sexy.  
  
Lestrade puts his free hand in Mycroft's neck, messing up his hair. And the other is still warm and soft from the sleep and the blanket.. and he wants him so very much right now. So the arm around the slender waist tightens just slighty, before the hand there searches for a way to get under the nightshirt.  
Mycroft's skin under direct contact is even more hot on Lestrade's fingertips.. and he claws his fingers gently into the other's back, drawing him closer.   
  
They're both already breathing heavily and the inspector's started to press himself against his lover, rubbing against him and their hips collide in a so fucking sweet way, he wants more of that.   
Under a suppressed groan his hand frees itself from the ginger hair and tumbles to Mycroft's pajama bottoms, pushing the elastic waistband down a bit, freeing his erection. After that, Lestrade wanders to his own fly, fumbling a bit awkwardly as he opens belt and trousers, so he can free himself from the denim, right enough to press against his lover for bare contact now. And he moans throatily at the sensation as he leans on Mycroft again... gasping his name.

 

Mycroft chuckles at Greg's challenging question and pulls back just enough to look him in the eye with a smile and a look of determination. "That, my dear Gregory, is a promise."  He's still feeling warm and heavy and dreamy from sleep and the feeling of his lover's hands all over him makes him absolutely buzz with pleasure. He has no idea what the time is, but judging by the amount of light filtering through the window in the foyer, they probably don't have a lot of time to enjoy each other the way he'd truly like - As tempted as he is to keep Greg right here and make love to him all day, the truth is they're important men who can't just beg off work at a moment's notice to indulge their desires for each other.  He certainly doesn't protest, though, at Greg's effort to relieve them both of the restraints of their clothing so that they can grind against each other.    
When Mycroft draws his knees up and lets Greg settle between his thighs, the familiar weight of his lover feels so right, so much like home, like it was the two-hundredth time, not the second.  Mycroft arches and lets out a groan and pushes his hips up against Greg's as  their hard lengths caress each other for the first time. One of Mycroft's hands slide into the back of Greg's jeans, clasping at his bare backside, the other cupping the back of Greg's head and pulling him close for a searing kiss.  
Normally a man of great control and stamina, Mycroft feels like he's fifteen again after several delicious  minutes of rubbing and grinding against each other, the sweet friction of their silken, intimate connection bringing him close to the edge far sooner than  he would generally prefer. He reaches between them, his long fingers easily encircling them both and stroking - In an odd way, it gives him some control over himself, until he hears Greg groan in his ear with a throaty 'oh fuck yes' a split second later.   
  
  
Lestrade finds that even a quickie with his new lover is like... well, Mycroft turns it into something tricky, almost sophisticated which is able drive his mind crazy and he can do nothing but let himself fall deep into the sensation. Rocking against him, panting, Mycroft's long fingers around them both are way too much.   
He's always thought of this act as the very best way to stress relief and his lover surely is the perfect conductor.   
  
The inspector groans again deep-throated and lets a string of dirty-sweet curses follow, not giving a shit what he is actually talking about and if asked later, he probably wouldn't even remember. But Mycroft seems kind of liking it anways, when his hand becomes noticeable unsteady in it's movements... and Lestrade can tell that he's so close to the edge already, like he's himself.  
This is the point when the detective inspector reaches between them, with a throaty growl,  to join his lover's hand and he closes his fingers around the slender ones, squeezing firmly. Of course Mycroft gets the idea immediately but Lestrade doesn't let go. A few more strokes, combined in this firm grip is all what is needed to make both men come with a choked moan, muting their sounds in the messy and sweet shared kiss.  
Lestrade clings to the other, not letting loose until his minds stops spinning  like it's trying to outrun the inspector.   


Mycroft tips his head back against the soft rug after their smashing climax and delicious kiss, and draws Greg close against his chest. They're both panting and grinning and simply enjoying the sweet few moments it takes to come down from their lust-drunk state.  "Gregory... My dear Gregory..  You are simply amazing.  I could never grow tired of waking up exactly like this."

Once his faculties have returned the elder Holmes lets out a sigh of bone-deep bliss and sits up, peeling off his sticky shirt.  As he lays back down and lets Greg settle atop him again, the sound of a stomach growling breaks through otherwise companionable quiet and Mycroft chuckles.  "Good God, this is a Holmes first - having a full, uninterrupted sleep, followed by waking up the next morning with an appetite. Mummy would just love you," he says with a grin.  A rogue thought ('not more than I do... ') escaped the most tight-lidded recess of his brain, and chases his spoken words, but he swallows the thought before it can be said aloud prematurely.  He

  
Lestrade had his head rested on Mycroft's shoulder, watching his profile in an indefinable detailed manner, while his hand ghosts over the other man's heaving belly. They haven't spoken the L-word yet, although Lestrade tends to be _very_ loyal, very _bound to_ when he is with someone for quite some time, who is decisively more than an one-off thing by then...  
But he can figur that Mycroft isn't very keen with stuff like that and usually the inspector is pretty good with judging human nature, coming from his job - and he asumes his new lover to be someone who may take forever to speak up his mind in this matters. But that's perfectly fine by him, he would let Mycroft take ages to phrase something tricky as this.  
For now the other's eyes laying on him and the expression on his face are more than enough to give him that particular warm tickle in the belly.. which isn't exactly hunger for food.  
  
He has to laugh at Mycroft's statement and pulls the other into a bear hug before he lifts himself up a bit, with a demonstrative groan. "So we better feed that appetite of yours. I gotta rush soon but er, maybe you happen to have some more of these incredible sandwiches hidden somewhere?" His grin is giving the inspector away and he pushes himself up to his feet, fumbling a bit ineffectively with his belt and stuff, as he tries to prevent the trousers from slipping down again.   
  
They find something to clean themselves and Lestrade sees Mycroft's posh bathroom for a couple of seconds after his lover and sometime later he lingers around the even more posh kitchen, eyeing everything with a mix of amused envy and sheer disbelief about the massive equipment.   
He let's Mycroft do the host stuff this time and leans in the doorframe, arms casually crossed in front of his chest - but his slight uneasy  pawing the ground gives him away. Watching Mycroft at his doing he needs a moment to think of the right words.    
Finally he tries. "Ahm.. I was wondering, if you'd ..go out with me, on a proper date I mean." He stops the pawing, getting more confident. "I know a really nice place around Soho where we could go. Fancy the music.. and people and stuff there, so maybe you'd like to.. just..have a go."

 

Mycroft smiles at Greg's comment about the food. He's glad for once to have a dilligent private chef to do his culinary bidding. He'll have to start making a list of what Greg likes so that he can make sure Alain has it available. Maybe someday he'll even get to find out what Greg's kids like. Now there's a thought to give him pause...   
  
He takes Greg's hand and leads him to the bathroom to clean up, and changes into a fresh shirt while he's there, then to the kitchen to warm up some food.  They share a bit of small talk as Mycroft totters around the kitchen, pulling a few items from the fridge and warming up the components of a decent breakfast sandwich, with egg and bacon and veg on panini.  He cuts it in half and is arranging it on a plate with some fruit when Greg's question comes out. He pauses in his movement and he smiles softly.  Greg wants to have a proper go at this, not just... clandestine meetings and dinner dates at their respective homes. He wants to be out on the town, doing things that couples do.   
  
Mycroft's never been part of a couple, never had more than a few quick one-off couplings and that was that. He's never been in love, never felt the stirrings of emotion that he's felt constantly with Greg since they began this journey together.  He's never been around someone he actually wants to go out with. To be out with. He's always shielded himself behind his responsibility to his job, to the British Government, and to the puritanical rules and regulations that, with a few lines of code and a few strategic payoffs, he could completely eliminate. Here, in this moment, in this kitchen, with Greg standing so casually in the doorway, looking so deliciously rumpled after their quick session, the elder Holmes makes the conscious decision to lower the shield. He wants to go out. He wants to be out.   
  
He doesn't answer right away, which he knows is probably the wrong thing to do, but he did need to take a moment to consider the idea. Once satisfied with his decision and his plating skills (rubbish at cooking but great at presenting) Mycroft walked over to the island in the center of the kitchen and pulled out a seat for Greg and himself.  He gestures to the chair, which he notices Greg take with a little bit of hesitation.   
  
"Gregory, I would love nothing more than to go out with you.  I think it would be lovely to get out and do something different. Can't say that I've ever been to a club, so I look forward to sharing the adventure with you." he says as his hand slides over the inspector's.   
  
To be fairly honest, Lestrade wasn't quite sure which answer he could be hoping for. And he reckoned with anything along the lines of  Mycroft changing the subject, giving him a very mycroftish look or making an eloquent excuse but basically telling him no, this was a way too rubbish idea.   
And so, when he's getting an actual  'yes' Lestrade practically beams at his lover, and for the next ten boundless minutes Mycroft can't keep the inspector from chatting cheerfully about his plans.  He's telling him about the club he's going to take him, the kind of music they use to play there, the atmosphere, the fucking awesome drinks.. and that he isn't to take everything serious what blokes around might probably tell them. But joined with all the enthusiastic splutter comes the unwavering promise to keep an eye on the other at any time they'll be around there.   
  
The D.I nearly forgets about eating as he leans over the table, not letting go of Mycroft's fingers, probably giving him a hard time eating anything with just one hand, but he's too bloody excited to even notice, his grin broad and easy.   
"So next saturday it is?" he squeezes Mycroft's hand before he finally lets him go. "Don't worry, it's gonna be a great night, you'll see! Just leave it to me, I'll pick you up here at nine if you'd like. Jesus now I'm really looking forward the weekend."  
  
After a couple of minutes Lestrade remembers at least so far that he was hungry and gives the delicious sandwich a try. And he also recalls that talking with your mouth stuffed is rude, so he shuts up for at least the next five minutes, which leaves them both dwelling on their thoughts. Tough, he isn't able to resist nudging Mycroft's foot under the table with his own very playful, holding eye contact all the time.   
To be accurate, he has to leave his lover's flat in less than 20 minutes but the outlook on next weekend doesn't let his grin falter any time soon. He will make this good for Mycroft - he makes a promise to himself.  


Mycroft is absolutely charmed by Greg's enthusiastic chatter about the plan for their date.  The music sounds interesting, the drinks sound exotic and fun, and Mycroft grins at the comments about what the other blokes might say. He doesn't care how many people are in the club, they won't matter; his eyes will be trained on one person, and one person only. He was never one for music clubs, really, but he's excited about going out with his inspector.  A night of dancing, drinks, and time with Gregory outside their normal environment sounds more and more like the perfect escape and adventure they both have been desperately needing. 

He watches Greg and listens and responds with a smilesleep, but wants his lover to be able to eat and enjoy his breakfast but he hasn't got the heart to make the adorable man let go of his hand or stop talking long enough to have a bite. 

In the time that he's quiet and tucks into his sandwich, Mycroft never breaks the sweet, adoring gaze they share.  Their feet tangle under their chairs and Mycroft rests his free hand over their joined hands, gently stroking the soft inside of Greg's wrist. He's struck again by how pleasant it is to be domestic with this man; meeting him at the door with a hug and a kiss and a drink after a long day at work, making sure he eats, waking up together and enjoying each other's bodies and company and then breakfast before work.   It all feels good and right and safe and perfect and Mycroft can't find a single thing bad about what they've got together.

Before much more time passes, it's time for Greg to leave and Mycroft walks the inspector out to his car, admiring how fitting the stylish silver BMW is for Greg.  He holds the door and kisses Greg with sweet passion just before he lets the man into the fancy car, and then leans against the rail of his front porch as he watches the car leave. Once he's back in the house, he picks up his mobile from the table in his study and fires off a text before going to get himself ready for the day. 

 

 _Missing you already._  
Waking up with you next to me  
is getting to be a habit.  
One I don't plan to break anytime  
soon. Have a lovely day, my  
dear detective. Be safe.  
xx  
M. 

  
Lestrade can't stop the grinning as he's sitting in the car, already tracing the busy morning traffic on London's streets. Usually this part is a bit annoying but now he can't find a single bother to give, not while reading his lover's message twice. Texing back while driving may not be a very good idea, even less when you're one of the famous heads of London's Scotland Yard, but he will shoot Mycroft a line back, before he gets ready for the day.    
He feels still a bit sleepy and seriously needs a shower before going to the Yard but overall Mycroft has managed once again to boost him thoroughly with enough energy to feel like a schoolboy on too much sugared coffee. Maybe it's a bit ridiculously outspoken, but work is much more easier to handle if you have something to look forward to. And the inspector can't wait for saturday.  
  
So the text Mycroft gets a short while after the silver BMW has parked in the driveway is:  
  
 _Head and hands in files, my heart's with you all time._  
Looking so much forward to saturday  
Can't wait see you again.  
Yours  
G.  



	7. Chapter 7

The next days pass as ridiculously mundane as one could imagine. But it's just the picture that's shown outwardly, for Mycroft really has turned the detective inspector’s life upside down since they've met in private for the very first time. Lestrade initially had had a hard time telling himself that yea, he actually got himself a boyfriend .. who happens to be the very british government and, besides that, Sherlock Holmes' brother.  
  
And actually Sherlock is the main issue Lestrade finds himself to face the next days at work. He's much more than a colleague but seeing his older brother is not truly helping the relation between them to get any easier. At first, the inspector thinks Sherlock hasn't noticed anything at all. And maybe he hopes for that. Because when the tall character comes in the Yard on thursday, with John at his heels, he doesn't mention a single word regarding the matter. But of course he knows...  
How could Lestrade even doubt something like Sherlock's delicate skill of observation. Especially if it's to do with his brother.   
The inspector can't tell if its the single ginger hair he's probably got left on his jacket, the fleeting odor of Mycroft's after shave somewhere on him, his fricking deodorant or just the way his eyes might give him away, because they're gleaming, even if they have a fucking double murder to deal with today.  
  
Anyway Lestrade finds it pretty unnerving, this secret indecipherable look he's getting constanly through their work at the crime scene and he finally confronts Sherlock, because running away from problems had never been his cup of tea.   
"Anything the matter? You know, that look I'm getting... Ah don't get me wrong, but if there's a problem, I would really fancy if you just _tell_ me." His gaze is blatantly and makes John look away, but Sherlock gives it back, eying the inspector with that typical unreadable holmesian expression which is going to the drive Lestrade nuts someday.   
Eventually he gets an anwer. 

"No. Not any problem."   And the inspector wants to gasp in relief, as the other adds "Just, good luck." And that pretty much does it.   
Lestrade's taken aback for a second and when he manages to pull himself together, Sherlock's already gone and kneeing beside the bodies. Only one left is John, so Lestrade turns to the shorter man and mumbles while scratching his neck morosely "You too."  
However, after this incident fronts are clarified and they no more speak of the matter.

 

It had taken Sherlock three days to suss out what was going on between his brother and the inspector; Partly because he flat refused to go to the Yard for two cases, and partly because during the case he DID want to work on, information regarding the love life of anyone but himself was irrelevant. On the third day, something itched in the back of his mind and he took a trip to his mind palace to try to figure it out. There, he found it, remembering seeing a thinly-veiled stupid grin on the Detective-Inspector's face, seeing a single ginger hair on his tie, and catching a faint whiff of a familiar-yet-foreign cologne intermingled with the inspector's own. Then there was Lestrade's behavior overall. Lighter, happier, almost giddy, but making a point to act as normal as possible around Sherlock, which automatically meant he was trying _too_ hard and acting like an idiot. 

Mycroft wasn't much different, of course. Lighter, happier, well-rested, eating, and not wearing concealer... or at least, as much of it. A silver hair stuck to the side of his neck, likely from where the men had shared a hairbrush, and ... yes, there it is, the mingled scent of their differing flavors of cologne.  

"Don't betray or otherwise hurt Lestrade, brother.  He's my one connection to Scotland Yard and I won't have you ruining my career over a lover's quarrel." Sherlock had warned him without preamble. Mycroft suspected that Sherlock had become aware, but his words of warning confirmed it.  Rather than play daft and deny it, Mycroft merely nodded.  "I care about great deal for Gregory and I've no intention of breaking his heart. Your career is safe, rest assured." 

Later that day, Mycroft felt his mobile buzz with the signature pattern he'd assigned to Greg's call ID. _"Sherlock's on to us"_  the message had read. Mycroft smiled and responded, _"Gave me his blessing earlier. Don't let him give you a hard time."_  That had been the end of the 'Sherlock Issue' as Mycroft had come to describe it. All that was left to do was wait out the week until Saturday, something that became much easier said than done as each hour crept by. 

When the day _finally_  comes, Mycroft makes sure to leave himself just enough work to keep himself occupied for the day, but not so much that he couldn't get out on time to shower and get ready for his night out. It occurs to him entirely too late, that he has absolutely no idea what the appropriate attire is for a club such as the one they're headed off to. 

 

 _Clueless posh git, here.  HELP!_  
No idea what I should be wearing.  
Advice?  
Can't wait to see you.  
Missing you terribly.  
xx  
M

  
  
Lestrade can't help but chuckle to himself, as he reads Mycroft's last text, already a whole bunch of possible outfits in mind, in which Mycroft would be looking nothing but outstanding. And additionally... the less denim the better, in his opinion. But he probably can't give Mycroft _that_ advice.  No, not really.  
 __  
Something casual will do.  
Seriously, I don't mind what it's going to be.  
Pick what you like, anything will be awesome.   
See you later, can't bloody wait, honestly.  
xx G.  
  
After the Sherlock issue, they merely had been texting each other in the mornings and evening, wishing the other either a good night or good time at work and it had been lovely domestic as hell.  
But the inspector had become more and more jumpy towards the weekend, wishing to see his lover again after all the days stuffed with work.   
So when it's finally saturday, Lestrade takes the day off. He hasn't got much to do at the Yard anyway and the last cases they have had, had been the one on thursday.  
So the inspector takes the time and does some chores and domestic stuff around his flat.. like cleaning up, doing laundry (and he's got actually pretty handy when it comes to this, since he'd started to live on his own) and casually checking his mobil in between. When evening comes, the inspector takes a long hot shower, before he steps in front of his closet and checks through his stuff because he too has actually not a clue yet what to wear tonight.  
Eventually it's going to be a dark-blue dressed down jeans and a gray uni-colored shirt with V-neckline. As accessory he puts on a plain wristlet in shape of a silver chain and his old black leather jacket completes the outfit quite nicely. And he's got still some time to spend in the bathroom - like teen but screw that - putting a bit of product in his hair to make it stand out  a bit spiky. At least he doesn't overdo it with the cologne and ten minutes later it's neary half past eight and he's ready to go.  
  
If he wasn't exactly nervous before - now he surely is. Heart pounding in the inspector's chest,as he gets out of the cab in front of Mycroft's house at exactly nine o'clock and  telling the cabbie to wait.   
  


Mycroft grins, then pinches his eyes and sighs as he gets Greg's message.  "Not helping, love" he says to the empty room.  He's really struggling, so he resorts to looking up fashion trends on the Internet for inspiration.  After going through a few options he eventually he decides on fashionable jeans and a slim fitting vintage-looking union Jack t-shirt with a narrow, lightweight scarf and his black peacoat. 

After laying out his clothes he puts to soak in the bath a while, turning on some soft classical music to soothe his nerves.  It helps some, but once he gets out and dries and sctarts putting himself together, the twisting in his gut starts all over again.

At a quarter to nine, he checks himself in the mirror.  He's satisfied with the ensemble, casual and comfortable but fashionable enough to seem up to date with the trends.  He scrutinizes his freckles but he's proud of himself for letting go of the concealer since Greg seems to like them.  He really doesn't give a single shit about what he looks like to everyone else in the club, he isn't there to impress them.   He's sitting by the fireplace and sipping a half-measure of scotch when the door chimes.   He takes a deep breath and answers the door, ready to go, and stops dead in his tracks at the sight of his date.  "Gregory.  You look wonderful, my dear.  Truly a sight for sore eyes."

 

Mycroft is not the only one to be stunned by the other's appearance. Lestrade can't help but stare for an entire moment, eyes wide, literally dilated as he fixes the elegant yet characteristical composition his lover's chosen.  Damn it, if Mycroft's planning to go out like that, Lestrade really has to keep a pretty close eye on him.. but no complaints about that, really.  
With an approving hum he closes his arms around the other's slender waist and hugs him closely, chin on his shoulder.   
"Don't talk rubbish, you're the one looking damn hot here.." Wrapping him closer he takes a nose full of Mycroft's familiar scent, mingled with his cologne and his body reacts almost instantly to that.  "If we weren't to go out, I'd have you right here on the floor, no kidding..." But the inspector is grinning evidently as he lets go of the other with reluctance.   
  
Their cabbie is probably pretty on edge by now but Lestrade doesn't care. He leads Mycroft's to the car, holding the back door for him, before he followes onto the back seat.   
They don't drive long, although it turns out the city's pretty busy already at this hour - nothing Lestrade actually wasn't expecting. Folks around Soho at this time on a saturday is always a loud, cheerful but overall nice mob of blokes (and women) who like a good party. Lestrade - for instance - is no exception to that, even if he hasn't been here for quite a while. There is no fun in going out alone.. and furthermore he had been married.   
No problem with being married, though. For he had always enjoyed coming home to a lively home, getting a kiss in the doorframe and food already waiting for him in the kitchen. But as tolerant as his ex-whife had been... not accepting a husband hanging around in bars all night, if he had kids, especially in significant places around Soho if he wasn't exactly as straight as an arrow ruled out almost every possibility.   
Lestrade's never been unfaithful but respecting his former partner wish, he'd stayed at home most of the time. Watching telly became a habit and getting lazy was the inevitable consequence. And when Susan started yelling at him for sitting in front of a football game all evening, beer in hand, Lestrade had started to wonder...   
  
Now he's feeling the sweet tingle and the excitement in his belly again after all this time and the inspector comes to realize how he'd missed a proper night out.   
And Mycroft beside him makes it even more delightful ... even if he can't overlook his lover's set face. His body is slightly stiffened at his side, legs tensed where they brush against each other, and Lestrade realizes that he's nervous.   
A warm, comforting hand feels for the coolish long fingers, taking them in a reassuring gentle grip. A smile follows, saying _it's alright, everything's going to be fine. Just trust me._

There's no other way of saying it: Greg looks _delicious_  in his snug jeans and chest-hugging shirt and soft leather jacket and Mycroft can't help but grin as Greg says that he'd have him right there on the floor if there were time because he'd thought the _exact same thing._

He couldn't help but feel a little bit of arousal stirring at the sight of this man, sexy and confident and and charming and excited and absolutely _his_ ; if not for the fact that Greg had been so sweet and enthusiastic about showing Mycroft a night on the town, he would have said a big 'sod it' to their evening plans and hauled his lover off to bed.  The time for that, if they'd the energy for it, would come later in the night. 

 

After their warm greeting, he allows Greg to usher him into the cab, finding it quite charming that Greg hung back and let him in first, and leans against the inspector once they're both seated and the cab's off and moving. They're mostly quiet during the drive and it gives Mycroft time to think.

He considers how his life has changed since beginning this journey with Greg. In little more than two weeks time, the Detective-Inspector has managed his way into Mycroft's every thought and breath and heartbeat. The way Mycroft views himself and the world around him has changed, much for the better. He eats to enjoy food, not just to sustain himself, and works out a little harder to keep his physique which leaves him feeling better about himself and with more energy.

He's mostly off using any concealers and makeup, letting his natural skin show. He takes more time for himself, delegating a few more jobs and tasks to his employees so that he can have a proper lunch or go home before midnight. He smiles and laughs more and his brother's antics don't seem to make his blood pressure go quite as high.   

 

In that same line of thought, it occurs to him that he's got no clue where exactly they're going, and he's strangely okay with that. Greg's in control, and Mycroft can simply exist and enjoy the moment. It's a curious thing, handing over control. Normally, Mycroft is the one that makes and carries out the plans and takes care of things. He has the wealth and the power and the connections and, and previous companions (none of them around long enough or felt serious enough to be called boyfriends, lovers, or partners) had just defaulted to letting him be the 'Alpha' in the ... relationship, if it could be called that.  That was all just fine and good by Mycroft, of course. The more power and control, the easier it would be to steer the progress and inevitable end of the coupling and Mycroft always came away unscathed and unscandalized. 

 

With Greg, the tables have turned and not in a bad way at all. Mycroft actually _wants_  to let Greg take the lead and Greg, having been a married man with children and the provider for his previous household, seems to take to the role naturally and confidently. Greg had been the one to invite him out the first time, cooked him dinner, arranged this evening out. Greg has taken charge and Mycroft is more than happy to go along for the ride. 

 

Despite all that lovely thought, Mycroft finds himself nervous as they pull up to the club. 

 _Nervous_  isn't a normal feeling for Mycroft. He's the Ice Man. By default, he's cool, collected, and nothing outwardly affects him; And yet here he sits, next to his partner, about to exit a cab and enter a world he's not ever seen or experienced. He's done his share of research about clubs, but academia only gets you so far. 

Greg's warm hand on his soothes Mycroft's nerves and he gives a more relaxed smile to his lover, leaning over to kiss him tenderly before exiting the cab.  He slides his fingers between Greg's and leans into his arm as they approach the club. There is a throbbing in the air as the music in the club escapes the very walls that try to confine it, and there's a constant stream of bodies in and out of the club that adds to the energy. The excitement radiating from Greg is palpable and Mycroft latches onto it, absorbs it, uses it as a way to turn his own anxiety into excitement, and as they step into the club, Mycroft is relaxed and ready to enjoy the evening to its furthest extent. 

  
Lestrade led Mycroft through the colourful and brightly lit street, vibrating with sounds and noises and altogether booming with life.   
Yea, he'd really missed that.. the vibe, the colours, the people. Feeling ridiculously invincible for a few hours, free and forever young like Peter Pan, even if it's just for a night (and on next morning he'd mostly have a proper hangover, but that's always worth it).  
He holdes his lover's fingers between his own, as they get deeper into the bulk, mingling with the music and the nightlife in Soho. The inspector's chest is wide and his steps confident - it shows clearly that he's proud of his company, of the man at his side and he surely can be, because Mycroft's a real eye-catcher around here. Not only his exklusive outfit but his entire appearance earns them many looks and turned heads. Lestrade may not be the overly jealous kind but he's actually eager with marking his territory and surely has no problem to stare back at people until they get the message.  
  
Things have changed a bit around..and not only the music, and same goes for the people. The biggest clubs on the main street are not their destination for they're too stuffed and hammering with a nerve-racking beat Lestrade's sure they both wouldn't enjoy at all. He might not look it but the inspector's quite demanding when it comes to music and to the question of where to spend a decent evening and have a few sips.  
  
So eventually they turn into a side road and he's leading Mycroft to his favorite club. The music there is a mix of rock, pop and stuff from the 70ies and 80ies and especially Mycroft is able to get a proper frist impression as the music is constantly leaking through the opening doors.  It's the same mellow vibe Lestrade had put on at home and it's obvious, they have reached their destination.   
  
Lestrade's happy when Mycroft's relaxes in his grip, his long fingers still interlaced with his own as they enter.   
The club's already fairly stuffed and crowded and they have to push through a bunch of people firstly, who are hanging around the entrance near the bar.   
He takes a deep breath, already grinning delightedly.  
Without letting go of his lover, the D.I takes a single step ahead, is taking the lead and cuts a way for them with some pushing of the shoulders. And this his turns out to work pretty well, as Lestrade is heading for the bar now,  apparently with the intention to get them a first round of drinks.   
The barkeeper recognizes the man, remembering his features, but he seems surprised to not seeing him here in a while. Then he eyes Mycroft behind him with upfront curiosity. His smart outfit is nothing totally new to the club but it's surely a rare sight.   
Lestrade stops the man from gawking as he orders himself a guinness and makes room for his lover to pick something from the card.

 

Despite being overwhelmed by the thrum and throb and constant activity around the clubs they pass by, Mycroft feels his nerves soothing. Greg's fingers feel secure in his, and he's almost to the point of amusement at how his lover's 'detective' persona comes out in this crowd. He's clearly in 'protection' mode, but he's also got a certain swagger about him, a sexy confidence and pride in himself that gains them both a little bit of attention. The Detective-Inspector, depite his silver hair, is youthful in this crowd. He is clearly thrilled with himself over this evening, practically vibrating with excitement, and the way Greg holds on so securely and makes sure Mycroft stays right with him tells the elder Holmes that, perhaps, Greg's quite proud of being in his company as well. It's enough to bring an easy smile to Mycroft's face. 

 

Greg's obviously a seasoned professional at navigating the street crowds to get where he wants to go - His broad rugby shoulders and lean football frame give him the ability to nudge his way through the crowd and bring Mycroft with him without breaking stride or losing contact and Mycroft isn't the only one to find it all incredibly sexy.  There are looks and whispers and it's all quite flattering. Thankfully, no one reaches out to touch - It's been a long time since Mycroft dated anyone, but to anyone looking, Greg's body language is clear:  _Mine. Back off._


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft can't help a little sigh of relief as they bypass the louder, more crowded clubs for one a little more toned down, with a more mature crowd and music better suited to his tastes.  It's still busy, and he stays in constant contact with his date, but he feels far more at home with the soft bluesy rock than with ... whatever the hell those other clubs were playing.  

 

Once Greg's ordered his drink, Mycroft glances down the menu at the available beverages and, since they (obviously) don’t carry his brand of Scotch and Mycroft would never expect or make Greg pay for it anyway, he settles on a vodka & tonic. Something light to the taste, mixed so he doesn't get overly intoxicated, and classy but inexpensive. Once their drinks arrive Mycroft leans to Greg to speak.  "Where to now, darling?" he asks after pressing a kiss to the shell of his love's ear. 

  
Lestrade feels a shiver running down his spine over the soft touch and has to put his drink back down, from which he was just about to take a sip, grinning stupidly. It's really not fair when Mycroft's doing that just out of the blue, but no complaints... really.  
When he does take a sip then, the detective inspector's eyes slide over his lover's features, catching a delighful smile, before he does a dismissivly, casually wave.    
"We could just stay here", he suggests, which is in fact a very smart idea, since it's nearest to the drinks, but Lestrade figures that Mycroft probably would prefer some calmer place, around one of the less crowded corners and away from the obviously drunk blokes around the bar.   
So he points to a row of high tables at the far side of the hall, just beside the dance floor. People which are standing around there, chatting and watching the dancers, seem quite more pleasant then the lot around and maybe it's a good starting point. "There?"   
And when the other's apparently having trouble to hear what he's saying over the booming sound, he touches Mycroft's shoulder softly before heading of to the indicated place - always making sure that they don't lose touch in this chaos.  
  
It had been still somewhat early when they got here, but the club is filling itself more and more the later it gets.. and related to this, people's spirits raise, visibly and tangibly as the atmosphere in the club gets enormously cheerful and generous.   
A good (and rather unmissable) indicator is when blokes start taking their shirts off, presenting their well-trained upper bodies, mostly directly on the dance floor... and attracting other blokes with that.   
If Mycroft hasn't already noticed, most people around here are actually guys, but there are also some women spread around the club and the mixed public makes it more relaxed and unconstrained in the end.  
But like in any other club, people like to drink.. a lot, and it's near eleven when Lestrade's getting his fourth beer. He will probably stick with this because it's relatively affordable compared to the other drinks they're offering here.   
From the inspector's build and the life he's leading one can tell that he's hard drinking, probably, and the only thing the alcohol does to him is pushing the man's spirit.. and obviously loosening last inhibitions.   
  
All the time they had been watching folks dancing, having fun on the dance floor and the detective inspector's leg had been bobbing along, giving him away for so observant eyes like his lover's. But he hesistated to leave Mycroft behind, not even getting the idea of asking him for a dance, since just standing here is probably the most excitement the other's ever had. So he confines himself to nudging Mycroft's fingers playfully, snapping after his neck and earlobe once in a while and watching the scenario with a pleased, slightly hazy vision.  
But as one of Lestrade's favorite songs is played, he can't hold back any longer and gulping down the last of his drink he gives Mycroft an apologizing wink, before he storms onto the dance floor, mingling with the rest of the dancers but carefully not to come in touch with any of them.

 

Mycroft finds it easy to be amused and entertained by the largely-male crowd. There was definitely no shortage of handsome faces and attractive bodies, but Mycroft's attention was solely on Greg, and vice-versa.  Mycroft was content with watching, simply enjoying being in the club and soaking up the energy of the place; but as each tune changed, as more bodies wound through the crowd and started populating the dance floor, he could feel the wanderlust practically rolling off of his lover.  Just as he's about to tell Greg to get on with it already and go dance, the music changes and Greg has slammed the dregs of his beer and is practically running for the center of the dance floor with the most adorably apologetic wink, which earns Greg a wink and a wave in return.

They had been having a lovely night so far,  Mycroft mused as he watched Greg dance.  A club isn't the sort of place to have a deep,  meaningful conversation but the small talk had been fun and easy and he found it thrilling that,  despite the very crowded club, neither was afraid of a little intimacy and affection; they sat close, leaning even closer to talk directly in each others' ear, and shared the occasional touches to each other's hands, faces, legs.  To anyone with two eyes and a pulse, it was obvious that they were together. It came as a nasty surprise then, when Mycroft felt an unfamiliar hand grope his ass as he stood at their table and watched his beloved detective tearing it up with the crowd. 

"Haven't seen you in this place before," came the attached voice. Mycroft took a sip of his drink and set it down, reached to dislodge the hand from his backside before turning to his unwelcome guest, but never losing sight of Greg in his periphery.   
  
"I don't mean to be any more rude than is strictly necessary, but I don't particularly care for your greeting. Surely you noticed that handsome silver-haired man that I've spent the entire evening with. I'm quite content to watch him dance and enjoy my drink,"  Mycroft replied, letting his cool business persona come out to play. He leaned on the table, away from the stranger, crossing his arms over his chest in body language that screamed "Keep away". Unfortunately, the man was undeterred.

"Yeah, he's a proper handsome bloke. Dunno what he's done to land you, but I can do it better.." the man says with a leering smile, stepping closer and trying to tuck his hand into Mycroft's back pocket. Mycroft gives him an icy grin. 

"I appreciate your cocksure attitude, but I am absolutely certain that you have none of the intelligence, charm, kindness, or bravery that my partner has.  Now. With that said, I'm not much for physical violence so I won't threaten you myself. But I will make sure that you are reliably informed that you _will_  be taking your hands off of me one way or the other because you see, my beloved boyfriend is one of the best police officers this city has ever known and he will forcibly remove you from this building if you don't walk away _right now_."  It's the first time that Mycroft has ever uttered the words "beloved" or "boyfriend" aloud and while his composure is completely calm and distanced, the bubbling of bliss and joy in his chest is undeniable. The words come naturally and feel right. 

  
Lestrade had been enjoying himself and the music exceedingly, as he moved to the beat rather imposingly than really elegant. But it definitely was sufficient enough to get him some attention and attraction not only from Mycroft...   
Over all this time, the detective inspector kept close eye contact with his lover at the table, flirting, attracting and even teasing a little with his dark eyes. Even more, when he decided, that it was getting to warm and sticky to wear his leather jacket any longer and took it off.   
So far, anything went fine... until the two blokes, who were dancing next to him, apparently tried to get closer while doing so.. one of them  checked him out, head following the whole movement of his eyes up and down, and swaying his hips in such a hardly unambiguously manner to the beat, that Lestrade inwardly rolled his eyes - and then closed them.   
Pretending to listen to the trancing sound, loosing himself in the beat and dancing was usually the best way to express a clear "not interested" and worked most of the times. But when he opened his eyes again, the detective inspector recognized that this wasn't maybe such a good idea after all...   
His unwelcome company was gone but the bothersome bloke that suddenly appeared on Mycroft's side turned out even worse.   
  
Lestrade couldn't catch the exact words which were spoken, because of the loud noises and the dancing bodies in front of him, but Mycroft's face told him fairly well what was going on. He knew that blank and cool expression well enough, even though Mycroft had never shown it to him.  
Forcing himself a way through the crowd, Lestrade reached their table and intentionally blocked his lover from the other man, looking him in the eye. "Sorry chap, but _back off._ Saw him first."  
  
The words could be meant to sound playful, for the detective inspector is anything but sober right now, but his face is serious, damn serious and the other gets the message quite clear. Though he holds the man's intense gaze and lifts an eyebrow. "So you're with the police?"  
Lestrade quirks his brow, looking to Mycroft in a way that's obviously saying "What the hell did you tell him?" but can't help the light twitch in the corner of his mouth.   
But eventually, he's convincing and can shoo the guy away, but the inspector doesn’t feel like taking any more chances, really..    
So after another cool drink to calm his nerv (and make him even more cheerful and forthright), Lestrade takes Mycroft's hand and drags him with gentle determination towards the dance floor. "Come, dance with me..." he whispers with a soft slur, eyes fixed on his lover purposefully.

 

Mycroft had known telling the stranger that Greg was with the police was a dangerous gamble; Having an openly gay or bisexual officer would cause discord among the professional fraternity, but he hadn't specified whether Greg worked for the Met or the Yard, and he hadn't given any specifics of his position.  He was hopeful that his revelation would either be overlooked and forgotten by the grab-arse or if it came to it, Greg's position at the Yard would allow him a bit more lenience. 

 

He was relieved when Greg showed up and positioned himself between Mycroft and the stranger, and gave Greg an apologetic look and shrug when he got the 'what the hell did you say' glance. Greg had swept in, swift and aggressive, like a true silver fox defending his territory. It was endearing and immensely alluring to see the full extent of Greg' protective capability; he was fully prepared to take this fool outside, fold him in half and stuff his head up his own arse if he didn't back down and leave Mycroft alone. The stranger took the hint, finally, thankfully, and shoved off, muttering under his breath but no worse for the wear.

 

Despite his collected, professionally-honed exterior, Mycroft had been quite shaken by the whole experience. His only tell had been the shaking hand that slipped into Greg's after the stranger had moved off.  He let out a breath as his fingers slid between his lover's and he leaned on the table, taking a sip of his drink. "I'm glad you came by when you did, things were about to get ugly."  

 

He leaned against Greg and tipped his head to his Detective's ear to briefly explain what had happened, what he'd tried to do to handle it himself, and gave a gentle kiss to the shell of Greg's ear when he whispered his thanks for the rescue. Having absolutely no interest in being left alone again, Mycroft happily took Greg's hand and allowed himself to be led to the dance floor. He was never much for dancing but he had been studying the figures and got himself into a rhythm that seemed to match the beat of the song and the movement of the bodies around them. The only one he cared about was his Gregory's, and the way Greg was eying him up and down, licking and biting his lip, he must have been doing something right.   

  
Lestrade tried very hard not to growl over Mycroft's words and go looking for that bloke in the bunch around, grabbing him by his collar and telling him one thing or two about manners towards a gentleman who is _obviously_ in somebody's company here.   
But thinking is pretty hart at the moment, because of the alcohol he's has had, but nevertheless the inspector deals with the thought of asking Mycroft if he would rather prefer to leave.  Though, this would be very much like giving in, wouldn't it? Lestrade hates to have a nice evening ruined only by some shitload of a bloke, who's having a damn inappropriate go.  
So as Mycroft gives them the chance to continue their date around the club, Lestrade gladly takes it - and takes his lover to the still lively dance floor... and a short while later he's fucking glad he did.  
  
Mycroft is  - to put it bluntly - gorgeous when he's dacing, or trying to do so, which doesn't make a real difference, because even the attempt looks so much more elegant and sexy and captivating than most blokes around do. And Lestrade can't do anything other than keep his eyes fixed on him, constantly, literally devouring the other.  
At some point he puts his hands around Mycroft's waist, resting them on the narrow hips in a firm but gentle grip, and so they dance together, swaying to the vibe of a rhythmical beat in unison.   
And he can't take his eyes of his lover's face, his eyes and Lestrade gulps as he feels something rumbling in his belly and as his heart  is fluttering up the chest purposefully. Darn, he probably has had too many drinks already, but also some of his lower regions are precisely reacting to the visual stimulus he's getting...   
The room is dark and merely lit by several colourful spotlights, bathing them in the soft shades of yellow, red, purple blue and then yellow again.  And this is when Lestrade whishes for the other people to suddenly disappear - if only for a few seconds - so he can focus on Mycroft, and on him alone.   
The inspector's pupils are noticeable dilated and that is certainly not coming only from the dim light in the room... Anything he can tell is, that he bloody wants Mycroft so badly in this moment. Screw the alcohol, it's just that he's.. darn attracted to Mycroft - and for this to realize, he doesn't really need to take sip at all.   
  
Since they are in a club, the only place they can probably go to is the loo. So Lestrade takes his lover's wrist carefully but indicative into a gentle grip, as the mellow song ends and another is about to start, and drags him through the people, without giving them a look, to head towards the Gents.   
Mycroft's probably already read his intention, but that doesn't make Lestrade stop, until they are in the unlike smaller room with less people and he hustles him gently into one of the few non-occupied cubicles, pinning him there against the closed and locked door and starts to bite his lover's long neck purposefully... leaning in to him, before he takes a devoted lick to the same spot. The inspector's eyes glow affectionately, but also a bit hazy over the other's features... 

 

Mycroft observes that Greg is an excellent, energetic dancer; his athletic body gives him flexibility and stamina and he has a lightness on his feet from his football days that makes him graceful. Mycroft finds an easy, natural rhythm in dancing with Greg, not unlike how they've hit their stride in other aspects of their newfound life together.  He moves his body with Greg's as if moving on instinct and Mycroft loses himself in the lights, the music, the alcohol pounding in his veins, and the leftover adrenaline from the near-altercation. It's easier than he thought, this dancing business, and if Greg's face is any indication, he's actually not too bad at it. More than having an ability to dance though, he has someone he's completely in sync with and he hasn't a care in the world about what anyone else thinks except the man he dances with.   Mycroft is exceptionally glad in that moment that he had mentally squashed the briefly-entertained notion of going home.   
Greg has him fixed with a dark look, one filled with desire, need, lust as the tempo changes again.  Alcohol has lowered their inhibitions and their dancing has taken a decidedly more provocative turn as the music slows down and suddenly, Mycroft realizes he's being pulled toward the Gents and he's perfectly alright with the idea the moment Greg's teeth are digging into his neck.   
Mycroft is hard in an instant, and he quietly moans in Greg's ear as he presses into his lover's hip. The friction makes him shudder and he grasps Greg's shoulders to stabilize himself.  He's never allowed himself to be so wanton, but here he stands, knees weak, hard and ready to take - or be taken by - his lover in a very public loo and instead of terrifying him it adds fuel to his fire.  He pushes Greg back against the opposite wall and dips his head to bite at the inspector's sweat-slick neck.  He presses against Greg's hip again, urgent need overriding any sense of decorum.

The detective inspector is groaning as his lover tackles him to the opposite wall of the cabin and then he can't to anything other than bend his head to give Mycroft more room with his bites. His head sinks back against the wall with a soft thud and his gaze glides to the dirty ceiling unfocused.  
Memories flash up in Lestrade's mind, the image of Mycroft being absolutely silent as he came unter his hands for the very first time. Back then his desire-clouded imagination had been too blurry but he _does_ remember now the certain lustful ideas he was given from that discovery...  
Running with unsteady hands over Mycroft's lean back, his backside and grabbing the exclusive denim with clawed fingers, the idea snaps back into this man's head.   
Let's see if Mycroft is able to remain quiet when he's being played efficiently.. when he actually has to be quiet, because they're not alone... And so the inspector rocks his head back, to catch the other in a passionate kiss, growling,  while his arms are still wrapped around the slender waist,  as in the attempt to rip the denim off.  
The alcohol is surely doing enough things to loosen Lestrade's restraint and the man is as passionate and driven by desire as if this would be the very last time they touch. He bucks his hips against Mycroft, feeling his erection stabbing his own and this lets him moan throatily, suppressed barely only by the kiss.    
If Mycroft can manage to stay mostly silent when he's being sucked off.. - one thing, Lestrade is sure, he would pretty much fail himself at - .. Oh he's so going for that option then.   
  
And so, the detective inspector turns positions again and Mycroft finds himself pinned to the wall with his back for the second time, as Lestrade breaks the kiss to give him one long longing gaze, pupils dark and soft with affection. His hands are already on his lovers waistband, fumbling to unzip and open the fly as he sinks to his knees, letting Mycroft collaps softly against the only thing stable in his back. But thank god he stays upright and as soon as Lestrade has it done with the bloody denim his hands are back on Mycroft's hips to hold him steady in place.   
  
When he gives an experimental lick to the tip of his lover's member before taking it carefully into his mouth, the inspector's gazes traves upwards Mycroft's lean and shaking frame and he finds him absolutely fucking beautiful. Stunning.

Mycroft's a bit hazy from what feels like every drop of blood in his body rushing to his groin, mixed with the love-lust-booze intoxication he feels. It takes him a moment to register that Greg's fallen to his knees and hastily undone belt and jeans and has pulled them down his thighs along with his pants, but his brain kickstarts again the moment Greg's tongue laps experimentally at him. His instinct as his detective's mouth engulfs him is to release the gutteral, loud, pleasure-heavy groan that bubbles up in his chest. One hand slides into Greg's warm, soft, slightly sweaty hair and the other hand he balls into a fist and presses against his mouth, letting out a shaky sigh instead.  His knees go a bit weak but he's able to brace himself against the side of the cubicle. "Gregory," he whispers, trying not to whimper as Greg expertly works his length with teeth and tongue and lips. 

The need to be silent - or as quiet as possible - has Mycroft biting his knuckle as his hips move in sync with Greg's mouth.  It's probably widely understood that this loo is used for everything _but_ its intended purpose, but it doesn't stop the thrill of doing something incredibly naughty in a public place, while trying to stay as clandestine way possible. Even quite intoxicated, Greg's a master at what he's doing, and if he keeps doing it, Mycroft isn't going to last very long.  The feel of soft tongue and lips and sucking pressure mix together to accelerate Mycroft's arousal, and he can already feel the coil of a delicious climax building low in his belly.  

In the one (tiny,  _infinitesimal_ ) part of Mycroft's brain that's still capable of cohesive thought and logic, he wonders how long Greg would be able to stay quiet if their roles were reversed anda smirk creases his features despite himself, imagining how much he'd have to do to get Greg to moan in public.  The thought doesn't last long, though, because Greg's now palming his balls and applying just the right amount of pressure with his tongue and _sweet fucking Jesus yes,_ he mentally moans before he swears in his head in every one of the eleven languages he speaks fluently, but his lips don't make a sound. He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out as a long sigh as his hips press forward and his cock twitches just before he spills against Greg's tongue. 

  
Lestrade isn't shy to watch the other constantly while he's working the throbbing lenght in his mouth. And he finds he absolutely has to, since Mycroft in fact doesn't give a single sound except for the fleeting, soft whimper... and that's adorable, really. Not to mention hot as fuck.   
So Lestrade watches him, cheeks hollowed and the dark eyes with their usual keen mixture of amusement and sharp curiosity are nothing but hazy and completely lost to Mycroft's sight in this moment.  
  
He gladly lets his lover buck his hips and push forward with them to actual fuck his mouth. If nothing else, the hand on Mycroft's backside, nudging him gently forward, was indicating just that and the detective inspector manages not to choke as he tries to relax his throath. His tongue may be naturally skillfull but he hasn't given this specific treatment in a while and is out of practice... maybe, till Mycroft proves him otherwise.   
As his lover tenses up and his whole body stiffens against the cabin wall, Lestrade can feel Mycroft's hips contracting under the last bit of mental restraint. And he's thinking ' _No you don't.. dare... holding back..'_ and his mouth becomes teasing, demanding as he puts the last of effort in his doing -  until he feels the warm stickiness in his mouth, finally gratified. And Mycroft comes absolutely, ridiculously silent.. only a soft and heavy thud agains the cabin wall.  
Lestrade takes everything, swallows breathless .. and still the other gives not a single sound, not even on the final lick to the sensitive skin, before the detective pulls back. So... he really has to give Mycroft some credit for that, because this... _he's_ being absolutely intriguing... And Lestrade's still hard, but he thinks he can handle because there's someting particually other on his mind now...  
  
When the inspector gets back on his feet, slowly, demonstratively licking the last bits from his lips they pant in unison for a moment, Lestrade putting his arms around his lover and just holding him steady. His breah is a heavy gasp and won't calm any time soon it seems. Eventually he brings his mouth close to the other's ear, voice a alcohol thick and low murmur, but his tone is absolutely serious despite his half-drunk state "I want you to _fuck_ me later.." And as if for reassurance he searches Mycroft's eyes, holding his gaze.

 

Greg's words, growling in his ear, are almost enough to make Mycroft hard again instantly. He takes a moment to breathe, then pushes Greg against the opposite wall again, kissing him deep and slow and savoring that fucking amazing tongue against his and the taste of himself lingering on Greg's palate. His hands start at his detective inspector's face, then slip down the muscled chest and abdomen, to his hips. One hand palms what has to be a downright aching erection, the other hand grips Greg's denim-clad backside, fingers molesting the seam that dips into the cleft, and having his fingers so close to Greg's tight entrance makes him shudder with need, remembering the hot-breathed request Greg growled at him. 

 

He hadn't been expecting Greg's request; They hadn't been together long enough to clearly establish who played what role in their relationship, but Mycroft certainly hadn't minded letting himself be taken by Greg the one time they'd made it to actually having sex and he'd just sort of allowed himself to slip into the effeminate role. Hearing that Greg actually wanted him to reciprocate, wanted to feel him inside, made Mycroft's blood run molten hot. 

 

"Later can't come soon enough," Mycroft whispers against Greg's ear as the kiss breaks. "You, on the other hand, can." He smirks at the play on words before deftly unhooking the detective's belt and the button and zipper of his snug jeans. "Let's see if you can be as quiet as I was," he says with a dirty grin as he crouches down, getting face-level with Greg's groin. Mycroft's nose brushes the tip of Greg's cock before he reaches with his tongue to lick and suck at the delicious, hard flesh.  

 

  
The inspector gives a sharp exhaling sound and sinks back against the wall, missing the wet and hot tongue against his own already. He'd _deeply_ enjoyed the slick devouring kiss which showed him that Mycroft actually got what he meant, even in his half-drunk state.. same with his touches. But where his lover's mouth went instead is possibly even better now.   
Lestrade squeezes his eyes shut and uses one of his hands to steady himself against the cool material in his back while the other's found to Mycroft's bent neck... and he's already moaning by now traitorously, but bloody damn that, he really can't help it at all.    
Not with the other's reply still lingering in his mind and the meaningful grip following afterwards. Very much the most significant ' _Yes'_ he's has ever gotten.  
The detective inspector wastes not a single though to the idea of being active, passive, blokeish,  a sissy or any stupid stereotype shit people come up with, because - really - he doesn't give a single fuck. He hates labels and would't be even sure where to put himself....  Like, can't everybody not just be the way they are and enjoy what they like?  For him, one true benefit of being with a man in a relationship is that they can be outright equal when it comes to things like that... That's the same reason he's always been a bit disappointed when women turned out to be too passive in bedroom.   
So in other words, Lestrade's absolutely fine with taking Mycroft, pleasing him with a good, hearty fuck,  as he is with taking it up his ass himself when he feels like it.. and alcohol or not, Mycroft makes him crave for that feeling in this night... so badly.   
  
But in one aspect they obviously diverge immensely.. and that is Lestrade's total inability to stay mute and calm in a public place when he's being sucked off.   
The man gives a desperate gasp as Mycroft's tongue makes a too delicate twist and he needs to grit his teeth very hard to prevent a loud moan from slipping over his lips. Damn that... ... _fuck._  
Lestrdade's eye fly open again and he takes the picture of Mycroft hovering down in front of him, before he falls back again against the cabin wall heavily.   
The thump is answered back a short second later... apparently they've got neighbours and Lestrade can't help the amused twich of his mouth about the thought that they might not be the only ones having fun here...   
And really, not every moan and groan is in fact coming from the inspector... So in the end it turns out to become some wierd kind of battle which Lestrade is pretty confident they can win. "God, yes... like that.."     
He's completely focused on Mycroft and had been aroused enough from the very beginning...so it takes a ridiculously short time for his lover to finish him off and he comes with a sharp hiss, containing Mycroft's name as his hand tugs on the ginger hair at the same time like needing something to hold on to. _"Mycroft..."_

When he knelt down to service Gregory properly, Mycroft had noticed another two sets of very masculine-looking feet sneak by and take up silent residence in the cubicle next to theirs. At first, he had gone easy, simply savoring Greg and enjoying listening to his partner struggle to stay quiet. But with the new 'neighbors' not exactly being subtle about what they were up to, Mycroft became emboldened and started sucking, licking, grazing, palming, and stroking every way he knew how to draw the most delicious gasps and grunts and sighs and moans out of his lover. He had gone from not wanting to be caught, to wanting the world to know he was in this cubicle with this stunning, delicious specimen of man.  

It didn't take long, in the heat of the moment, to bring Greg to completion, and Mycroft savored the salty slick of Greg's seed on his tongue. The hand gripping his hair made him moan around Greg's cock and to Mycroft's amusement, Greg almost choked speaking his name. In hindsight it would be a good thing that Greg had stuttered in the middle, making Mycroft's name slur a bit. Proud as he was that he was with Greg, Mycroft _did_ still need to be cautious of where his name was mentioned - moaned? - because of his connections and position. He made no fuss about it, though, opting instead to simply enjoy the intense moment and the buzz in the air as they both came down from their pleasure high.    
  
Mycroft stood up straight, leaned against Greg and hugged him tightly. He pressed a gentle kiss to his detective's ear, smoothing his palm down the chiseled cheek, lovely neck, and leaving his palm to rest over Greg's thudding heart. For a moment, the world faded away and it was just the two of them; The loo and its other passionately-enthusiastic inhabitants, the muted music, the whole club itself disappeared in Mycroft's view, his scope narrowing to just this moment in time, this man in his embrace.  

 _"A chuisle mo chroí,"_ he whispered tenderly in Greg's ear as his breath caught up to him. The tender Gaelic term of endearment slipped from his lips instinctively in his love-and-lust-addled haze; It escaped unintentionally but it felt so right to say, Mycroft found that he didn't really care. He meant it either way, and maybe he'd have a little fun with it since he was fairly certain Greg didn't know a lick of the old Irish dialect.

Before Greg had too much time to dwell on Mycroft's whispering Gaelic love-phrases at him, Mycroft leaned his forehead against Greg's and took his hands, looking at his love's lust-blown dark eyes, heavily-lidded with exhaustion and intoxication. "Let's go home," he says with a soft, affectionate chuckle. "I want to have you properly, in a bed, where we can make love until the sun rises and sleep the day away tomorrow if we want." His voice is a low purr as he makes the suggestion that they head out.

 

In fact Lestrade hasn't got a single clue, which language, of the many he knows Mycroft is able to speak, the other just used. The melodious words made not a single sense in his half-drunk, afterflow muddled brain, except for sounding very gentle and affectionate and maybe he gets the meaning eventually... even if not so much consciously. But it is enough to make him close his arms around his lover even tighter. For a moment he wonderes if it maybe was french and the only stuff he remembers from school in this matter is 'Je ne sais pas', what would probably make for a very lousy return.

So the inspector keeps his mouth shut, until Mycroft looks him into the eyes and he's feeling much to drunk on alcohol and lust as to feel abashed and moving his gaze away. Actually the detective feels like saying something.. a whole lot of something, something specific which he is sure now isn't the right moment because Mycroft would probably not believe a single word, for Lestrade knows he must seem pretty drunk at the moment... But that's okay, really.

Basically because everything is just fucking fine in his head right now and he meant everything he'd said earlier. His eyes gleam with the familiar amusement and there's also a slight hint of mischief as he grins to Mycroft's chuckle and the meaningful words. This definitely sounds like a plan he fancies... much.

"Your place" is the soft answer as he nudges Mycroft chin with his nose, before diving for his trousers.


	9. Chapter 9

Lestrade at least remembers to wait for Mycroft to collect himself, before he opens the cabin door and stumbles to the row of sinks. A bit cold water helps them both to cool down and refresh mentally and where Mycroft uses the sink to cool his hands and wrists, the detective inspector goes for the whole thing, splashing two hands full icy water into his face with a grunt. But it helps to some extend and he can take the lead, carefully, as they leave the loo a moment later.  
Meanwhile it's around half past midnight and to be honest he's perfectly fine with leaving the club now and have a bit of a 'private party' at Mycroft's place. People are fun, but they can be a bother when you have eyes only for one, particular person..

Right as they step out of the door and the loud music gets them back, somebody grabs Lestrade's shoulder to catch his attention. He's confused at first but then he can match the face to the right person in his memory... and his stomach sinks.

"Greg, that you? Hey haven't seen you in a while!" The guy is a broad, tall bloke with dark hair and a way to tight shirt... One of Lestrade's before-wedding-affairs and looking at him now in retrospective, the inspector's not quite sure how he'd ever fancied this guy.. seriously. So basically they've just tripped over his ex lover - of all people - and Lestrade makes a face when the guy - name's Garry - eyes Mycroft with blatant interest.  
"He's with me" Lestrade says before Garry or Mycroft get the chance to say something. And that seems to settle it, though the man's gazes stays on his lover for a annoying long while before he turns to Lestrade again.  
"This is news! Thought you got yourself a girl and stuff.. so back on the market? C'mmon, lets have a drink!"  
Lestrade wants to shake his head, as a no to every of the three suggestion but rushing of now is probably a bad idea for Garry has a bloody full network of people he knows all around London.. and if someone recognizes Mycroft if they are being rude now....

 

Mycroft isn't an idiot, he knows - well, he assumes - that Greg had spent his fair share of time with men before he married his ex. Mycroft himself has had his own share of companions and so it doesn't truly surprise him that they've run into someone at this club that knows Greg.

Perhaps he's slightly biased by his company, but the creature leering at him does absolutely nothing for him. He can't even bring himself to feel flattered; in truth, he's quite put off by the man. Here he is, chatting it up with an old mate, while openly ogling said mate's obvious companion.

It doesn't make him upset knowing that Greg had others before him. Something about this man causes Mycroft to begin to feel a strong protective and possessive streak coming over him, though; It's a first for Mycroft, directly influenced by feeling he's developing for the inspector, but also not completely unwarranted considering the unwelcome advance he got earlier in the evening and the lecherous vibe coming from his dates former acquaintance. He drapes his arm around Greg's shoulders, ready to usher him to the door a moment's notice and stands by his side quietly while the intruder goes on and on with his empty platitudes.

"Thought you'd got yourself a girl."  
"Back on the market?"  
"Come and have a drink!"

He's decided he hasn't got time or patience for this rubbish. It's late. He's tired and drunk and sweaty and he's still wet from Greg's mouth on him and he knows that his detective is in the same situation. He wants to go home with his love, he wants a shower and a good long lovemaking session and an even longer sleep with Greg pressed up against him.

Mycroft gives his a sigh, tilts his head and fixes the stranger with a tight, mirthless smile that he usually reserves for placating dignitaries. "Oh, kind as you are to offer a drink, it's late and everyone's had a few already and Gregory's a bit dehydrated, so we're actually just on our way home. I'm Mycroft, by the way, Gregory's partner. I figure it would be good to at least know the name of the gentleman you were undressing with your eyes."

Lestrade gets the slight impression that, maybe, he's far more drunk than he'd initially assumed, because he doesn't really get what's going on when he's being dragged towards the exit in a gently but firm grip he didn't even think Mycroft was capable of. So Garry is basically just left behind and the man's face is all bafflement and a taken aback expression Lestrade surely would enjoy.. if he have had the time. But he is actually glad they escaped that situation without much harm done. Although, the D.I. isn't quite sure if his ex boyfriend is drunk enough to forget Mycroft's name. Lestrade hopes for it, hopes it doesn't ring a bell yet and let the man jump to conclusion which would be neither helpful nor beneficial for his new and somewhat fragile relationship with the britsh government in person.

When they reach the door to finally leave the stuffy room and step outside into the fresh air, the inspector takes a deep breath and eventually grins to Mycroft. "Well that was, uhm.. kind of the right stuff to say." He huffs "Haven't seen him with that expression before, guess you did a decent job."  
Lestrade leans forward and places a soft kiss on Mycroft's cheek where he can taste the slight trace of sweat on the still heated skin and he thinks that's adoreable. .. Not to mention, well, fuckable. Mycroft with reddened cheeks is doing various things to the inspector's mind and memory, to be precisely. And he is all about and ready to lift his hand to wave for a cab when a well-known black car heads for their direction and stops right in front of them.  
Lestrade eyes Mycroft suspiciously but the other is doing the non-participant, holmesian look again, which he still finds bloody unnerving but somehow the inspector starts to get the hang of it... maybe even fancy it a bit, for it's just one part of Mycroft's nature.

So they get in and not a word is spoken until the car drops them of in Belgravia, in front of the elder Holme's famous domicile. The only times Lestrade ever came to see it, it had been night, and so it's now but that doesn't disturb the admiration the inspector shows for Mycroft's place. Openly and always with his mouth open in awe.  
This is really something... and the inconspicuous and unobtrusive it looks from the outside, Lestrade's even more impressed by the sheer amount of space his lover's flat has got. Surely living here alone is.. some sort of wasting room, actually. Mycroft, in Lestrade's impression, could easily keep three or more dogs or cats as pets, but he has seen his lover pressing a small handkerchief to his mouth and nose as they walked past a woman with a dog earlier, so he bets on a allergy or something of thet kind... for Mycroft seems the type of being, well, prone to that. Lestrade feels sorry for him, realy does. But now he is eager to follow him close behind, inside the luxury builduing and he even minds the step over which he nearly tripped at the first time.

 

Mycroft had probably stepped way out of line when he spoke up and then promptly dragged Greg out of that club, but his detective seemed to appreciate the gesture once they were out in the fresh air. He's concerned at first that might have upset Greg by dragging him away, but his fears subsided when Greg tipped up and kissed his cheek. He held his drunk lover close while the car pulled up, even when Greg stares at him and he gives an enigmatic smile. He'd summoned the car earlier while Greg was dancing and now he was glad for it. He'd rather have his trustworthy driver and the quiet comfort of his Jaguar to get them home in their state.

The drive home is brief and quiet, and before either of them can get too tired or worked up in the car, it's depositing them in front of Mycroft's home. The look on Greg's face is priceless as they walk up the steps and into the elegant flat, and with alcohol inhibiting his ability to keep his thoughts under tight rein he can't help but ponder what life would be like with Greg here all the time, living with him. The flat was entirely too much for a single man to live in but Mycroft thoroughly loved his home, but he would be lying to himself if he said it wasn't a lonely existence. Greg had been the first one he'd brought here, and he filled the void just the right wa He certainly had enough room for Greg to live comfortably - far more comfortably than his present domicile - with room for his children to come and visit too, when the time's right.

Right now, all he can think of is the man whose hand he's holding and guiding him through the house, past the study and the kitchen and the entertainment room, up some stairs, down a side corridor and into the master suite. It's classy, comfortable, spacious, with a large bed in the center and a pair of comfortable-looking chairs off to the side by the large window and on the opposite side of the room sat two pairs of doors. One presumably went to a closet, the other to a bathroom. He shucks off his jacket and scarf, laying them across one of the chairs, then crosses the room to Greg to help him out of his jacket and drop a soft kiss on his cheek, then his mouth. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Gregory. With exception of a few minor issues, it was very fun." He kisses him again. "Why don't we have a shower and retire to bed?" He asks as he takes Greg's hands and leads him toward the door leading to the bathroom.

The bathroom is large, but not obscenely so. Just like the rest of the house, it's comfortable and elegant but masculine, and built with luxury in mind; A large walk-in shower in the corner, black granite countertops with stylish sinks along one wall and a shelf full of towels along the opposite wall. In the center of the room, an oversized clawfoot tub. Mycroft can see Greg's eyes light up at the decadence of the room and he smiles. The way his face shows his open amazement and appreciation of Mycroft's home just makes him want to keep the inspector there even more.

 

Lestrade let's Mycroft drag him through the enormous house and this time he is not too tired and exhausted to have a proper look around. He feels a bit like a 5-year old, being shown around by his dad, hands securely joined and like back then he's enjoys the other's warm grip.  
The alcohol makes him giggle over a delicate and wicked looking arrangement of some chinese plates, probably Mycroft's attempt on Feng Shui and of course his lover has got a small bonsai sitting in the corner of the large bedroom. These things seem so funny domestic, even if the rest of the house clearly calls out spartan to every possible visitor.  
And the inspector also gives a low, heartly chuckle over Mycroft's words. "You're very welcome" voice still a audible slur.

Finally in the bathroom Lestrade is glad to have the opportunitie to get off of his somewhat damp and sweaty clothes. Of course he hasn't brought any spares, since he hasn't even got a bag and kept his wallet in one of the backpocket of his jeans.  
Hm... so this way he'll have so sleep naked. But that's alright, he tells himself in his foggy head, before he starts to strip off everything he's wearing and just leaving it in a messy heap on the floor. Lestrade's taking the awkward move of who's to get naked first from Mycroft, as he does so, and a moment later the inspector steps out of his pants and eyes Mycroft's bathtube with great awe.  
This thing looks ... well, he's not entirely sure how it lookes like - anything other then posh - but this time they will probably better go for the shower. At least he can handle that.  
And so, as Mycroft is still busy, getting himself out of his clothing with more time then actually needed, Lestrade inspectes the shower, eventually finding out how the equipment works and he flashes the cold stream on first to take a few deep and hungry gulps.

A few moment later the bath is damped in fine stream from the hot water the inspector has set up - hopefully not too hot and to Mycroft's liking - and Lestrade can't help the warm and longing look he's giving the other man up and down, as he joins him in the shower cabin. The warm water rains down on them, the silverish hair already soaked and Lestrade's grinning to his lover sheepishly as he reaches with one hand to get his wrist in a gently grip... drawing him closer under the stream. When their bare skin touches, the detective gives a long and breathless gasp and his eyelids lower in an instant... "Fuck this is nice..."

Mycroft takes great delight in watching his lover disrobe and he's honestly thankful that Greg took the initiative to strip first. Of course, they've seen each other naked before, but it's such an intimate thing to just take you clothes off in front of someone. Greg makes no fuss about it, and reveals his beautiful body within a minute. He looks absolutely delicious leaned into the shower and lapping at the cold water from the showerhead's jets and despite being tired and intoxicated, Mycroft can feel himself grow a little hard at the sight of that lean body, water dripping down his chest and shoulder. Mycroft's clothes find their way to the heap in rapid succession and in minutes they're both surrounded by the fog of steam from the hot water and surrounded by each other's embrace. Mycroft bows his head to kiss the slightly shorter man, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "It's perfect," he says in response to Greg's words. "You're perfect." he says with another kiss.

He takes a bottle of shampoo from the recessed shelf near his shoulder and pours a bit into his hand, then reaches up and rubs it into Greg's wet hair. The scent of tea tree and sage is refreshing to Mycroft's senses and he instantly falls in love with the way Greg's wet hair feels under his fingers, and the delicious way the shampoo's scent mingles with the natural scent of Greg's skin. He gives his lover a brief, but lovely scalp massage before moving his soaped hands down the sparsely-haired, well defined chest and abdomen, across his hips, down over his backside, and up his back. The whole time, he nuzzles and kisses Greg, licking at his lips and toying with his tongue when it's offered to him. He's being leisurely in his exploration and adoration of the detective-inspector's body, wanting to draw every moment with this beautiful man out as long as he possibly can.

 

Lestrade makes an appreciative hum as Mycroft slides with his shampoo slippy finger over him. He watches the other's face in close up between their kisses and one can tell, that the inspector's pupils are getting more dilated and dark by every moment passing by as Mycroft washes him gently.  
There is another product sitting beside the shampoo bottle, Lestrade can identify it as a formidably exquisite looking kind of shower gel and he grabs for it. When Mycroft's doing the hair part, he can do the more physical... and so he does, taking a hand of full of the product before he reaches for his lovers chest with a pretty distracted smirk.  
In fact, Mycroft is not the only one who likes was he's seeing here... and oh, the elder Holmes can feel the inspector's affection, as he leans closer again, to rub and wash every inch of Mycroft's lean back and eventually along the delicate hips.

Lestrade gives a low, barely audible growl.. he wants to bow and lick Mycroft's teasing freckles everythere but then he'll probably end up with a mouth full of lotion. So he stays with kissing but this is really something... for the inspector's mouth and tongue are getting more demanding by the minute and this whole shower thing turns him on so much, his alcohol thick brain can't even realize.  
"Mycroft..." The man murmurs and presses himself tight against the other, watching him under lowered eyelids. There is probably lotion between them and around them and everything is slick and smells so nice, Lestrade feels his head spin, and not only from the hot steam.  
He gives the other a longing but systematic care with his hand covered in gel while their tongues tangle lazily.

Finally, the inspector reaches for the shower gel again and lets some of it drop into Mycroft's open hand, oh so suggestively...  
And as if his lover needed the guide, the assurance, the detective leads the long slender fingers down again, to his backside... his eyes never leaving the hazy glasz colour.

 

Mycroft's pulse is humming in his veins as Greg washes him, the languid pace doing wonders to bring him to a painfully full arousal. Every touch of fingers or swipe of the tongue or brush of their erections together makes him groan and crave more. "You are perfect, Gregory, simply perfect," he says in a low hum, his voice reverberating off the tile.

As his lover dribbles shower gel on his fingers, Greg's words come roaring back to his memory, words whispered hoarsely in the cubicle in the loo of the club. I want you to fuck me, he'd said. A pulse of arousal shoots through Mycroft as his hand is guided to Greg's backside. He pushes Greg back against the wall and raises one of the inspector's legs to hook around his waist, giving him better access. Eyes are locked as Mycroft's fingers dance along the curve of Greg's bottom, teasing the cleft, before moving around to the front again, giving Greg a few long, slow strokes before reaching down between the muscular thighs. Soap-slick fingers tease the underside of Greg's balls and stroke the snug opening that lays just beyond, and the noises that Greg makes are music to Mycroft's ears. He pushes a single fingertip against the crinkled opening and it slips in with just a little resistance and one slender digit is soon joined by another, as Mycroft claims Greg's mouth in a searing kiss.

Lestrade moans deeply into his lover's mouth as he feels the first delicate finger on him and in him, makin it's entry with ease. Fuck, it's been so long.. and it's mind blowing, literally. But he thinks he can manage... as Mycroft manages to make him want more this very instant.  
The inspector clings to the other, kissing him furiously and with lust and maybe he's trying to get his mind off of Mycroft's hand, which is probing with a second fingertip now. The shower gel may not be utterly perfect for, well, this kind of purpose and rather designed for another one, but so far it's doing a bloody good thing for the detective inspector. But mostly it is because of Mycroft's skilled fingers... the second now and Lestrade lets himself fall back against the wall with a groan, eyes squeezed shut. "Oh god.. Myc.."  
He's not going to stay quite or calm this night at all, so much is shown rather clearly.

For the moment they break the kiss to get some air, Lestrade bites his lower lip and manages to open his eyes again - they're gleaming with rough desire for the other, telling him to keep going. And as Mycroft just does so, the detective reaches between them, takes his lover in slick fingers and begins to stroke his lenght in slow movements. His second hand closes gently around Mycroft's neck and draws him closer so their foreheads touch.

 

Mycroft groans at the slow stroke, but after a moment he bats the hand away from his length with a grin. He grasps the wrist and pushes it up against the tile. "Ah-ah, I plan to be using that soon, and I want to last..." With their foreheads touching, Mycroft can see the true depths of Greg's dark brown eyes, and for a moment he's absolutely lost in them. There are words on the tip of his tongue that he so badly wants to say in this moment, but he resists, and instead pushes a brief kiss against the delicious mouth just within his reach.

Mycroft's exploring, probing fingers begin to twist and spread and work to make room for a third finger, which is met with some resistance. Knowing how irritating the soap will be after a time, Mycroft doesn't want to add more. Instead, he gently withdraws his fingers, and as his hand comes away from Greg's body he gives the inspector's testicles a gentle fondle, his length a few loving strokes, and then backs away to pull Greg under the shower again. "Let's finish in here and go to bed, where we'll be better prepared," he says with nothing but utter fondness and desire in his voice.

The look which Mycroft gets is rather strange, yet utterly uninterpretable as the dark eyes wander over his features and Lestrade's expression twitches around the corners of his mouth and also in the small place between his eyebrows. But it doesn't turn into a frown, tough it comes like a sudden impact when the detective inspector bows his head and bites Mycroft's slender neck right under the left ear.  
They stumble under the warm stream of water again and it takes some of Lestrade's willpower to just let the water wash away the remaining soap and gel.  
"Right.. let's get it over with. Dun want you to wrinkle up 'ere.." If even possible, the inspector's voice is nothing more than an uneducated mumble now, giving away a slight accent like he used to speak in his adolescence.  
Lestrade bites his lip again, practically vibrating with anticipation and lust and watching Mycroft under the flowing stream with his head slightly bent back and eyes closed is not helping at all.  
So he basically just stands under the dripping water, breathing heavily and letting the shampoo and stuff wash out of his hair as he rubs it impatiently and then shakes his head like a dog.

Eventually, when the water, that is going into the drain is clear, they can turn the shower off and Lestrade takes the black towel which Mycroft hands him over and starts to rub himself dry... or sort of. He honestly has a hard time to concentrate (or care) on that right now, besides it is pretty hot in here..  
The fabric is a bit rough and without softener, just like he fancies it, because this way it's easier to get dry and the massaging effect is nice.  
So when he gets to rub his hair with the towel rather carelessly, the result is a complete mess, standing up in every direction. Mycroft's expression to that is priceless and lets the inspector grin broadly like a boy. "Yea it's always like that... d'you like it? "

Mycroft's keenly aware that his decision to stop was unfavorable but he can't bring himself to care so much when he's got Greg's teeth sunk into his neck and drawing out a choked groan from his throat. He resists the urge to throw Greg against the wall and fuck him senseless right then and there, but he's too kind and cautious and attentive a lover, and the risk of hurting Greg is far too high.

He smiles and watches the water and soap sluice down Greg's delicious body, envying the individual bubbles as they slide over his collarbone, chest, nipples, belly, catching at the base of his erect length and eventually washing down his thighs. Greg's voice breaks him out of his intense study of the delicious inspector's body, and he grins a bit at the thick accent coming out from underneath the generic London tone. It's a low-country accent and Mycroft finds it absolutely precious. Somerset, from the sound of it, and Mycroft makes a mental note to ask about it later.

He quickly finishes washing himself off, kills the water, and presses Greg against the tiles to kiss him again before backing up and turning and stepping out of the shower, tossing a towel at his lover and drying off himself. He gives his chest and back a cursory rub, bends over to dry his legs, and as he stands up he catches the sight of Greg just as he's toweled his hair and it's sticking up everywhere. He can't help the wide grin and the soft laugh and he crosses the bathroom and wraps his arms around Greg, ruffling his wet hair and mussing it up even more. He smiles down at that handsome face, those gorgeous, deep brown eyes, and kisses him soundly. "I love it. I love you," he says and it takes him a second to realize what he's said; he's been so taken by the sight of this beautiful, precious, adorable, delicious, sexy, strong, amazing man that his internal filter betrayed him completely and words that had been lingering on his tongue and in his eyes now made themselves known.

The words can't be taken back, not that he wants to, but he still closes his eyes and tips his head back a moment, giving himself a mental slap. "Well, cat's out of the proverbial bag now, isn't it. I was hoping to wait for a more momentous occasion, but naked in my bathroom will just have to do. I love you, Gregory Lestrade."

Lestrade's first word as a reply to that is a simple, and rather ineloquent "Fuck" as his heart makes an unnatural looping in his chest before racing in speed. The man bites his tongue and huries to give his thickened brain a kick to add something Mycroft can effectively work with.  
His impuls then is to grab his lover by the shoulders and pull him close, take his face with both hands and devour him in a passionate, joyful and somewhat helpless kiss. Jesus, he is relieved Mycroft finally did something, just... Since Lestrade didn't know what to do with his feelings anymore. Things got so awfully difficult to hold back, and now...

He pushes against the other, like he wants to join them completely and a soft, thick voice in the back of his head whispers that later.. they're actually about to do just that - and it makes him gasp for air and break the kiss.  
"Oh Lord, I.. I've... geezus, Mycroft, you've no idea how long I was waiting- I er, I mean I hoped..." And there he is again, lost for words but still nothing is lost through that, for his eyes say enough... tell Mycroft everthing he must know in this very moment.  
But eventually the detective inspector manages a snort of a short overwhelmed laugh.. looking the other in the wonderful sparkling eyes and the words come naturally attended by a warm smile.  
"And I hope you figured, I love you Mycroft Holmes.. bloody thing, yea I do."

Their next kiss is more gentle.. almost tasting, testing.. but understanding at the same time. And there is nothing that holds Lestrade in this bathroom any longer. He takes Mycroft's hand in a soft firm grip and guides him back to the adjacent bedroom and towards the invitingly enormous bed.  
The sheets feel cool and comfortable under him, as the detective inspector lets himself sink back slowly, guiding Mycroft on top of him - still unable to get rid of that wide warm smile on his lips.  
If he could hear himself talk, he'd probably kick himself for being a lovesick wimp now but apparently Mycroft has begun to play with his mind, enchanted it with his damn poshy way a long time ago and there is no hesitation, because he means it, as he draws the other close, whispering "Make love to me, okay..?" into his ear.

The wait to hear Greg's reaction to his proclamation of love was mere seconds, but it felt like decades. Mycroft was ...well, to say the least he was crestfallen when the only word uttered in response was 'fuck', followed by a very loud silence. He steels himself in the silence, preparing himself for the worst - that he'd gone too far, that he'd mis-read the emotions between then, that... that Greg's about to shove off and leave. He's about to backpedal, apologize for ruining the moment, apologize for misinterpreting signals, when Greg pounces on him, claiming his mouth with ferocity and passion never seen before.

The kiss breaks only because the two men need come up for air and when Greg says that he loves him, Mycroft's heart nearly swells out of his chest. "You... Jesus, Gregory....You were waiting for me to say it? You knew?" He laughs and grins, feeling like a complete tit for holding back when he could have said what he was feeling ages ago. "It just... It felt too soon, I know we've known each other for years, but god, only really dating a few weeks, I didn't want you to feel like I was rushing, I--"

He's cut off by Greg's mouth on his again. Far less urgent but no less passionate, it's like a first kiss all over again. They sample each other's mouths, share delicate and tentative touches of fingers on bare skin, hum and moan together and experience each other in a whole new light. After a time he allows Greg to guide him to the bedroom and readily follows him onto the plush bed, limbs entangled, bodies still warm and damp from the shower, hearts racing as Mycroft settles himself between Greg's thighs. The words whispered in his ear, "make love to me", make Mycroft smile like a complete and utter love-struck fool and he catches Greg's beautiful dark eyes and nods. "Nothing would please me more. I love you," he whispers. He presses a kiss to his lover's mouth, then his chin, then his throat, biting and sucking gently and slowly at the skin between Greg's jaw and collarbone while he slowly rocks his body against Greg's, creating that delicious friction that will bring them to the edge.

Mycroft makes short work of descending down Greg's body, biting and sucking and kissing and licking and stroking the whole way down. He takes Greg's cock in his mouth, sucking him just long enough to get him deliciously hard, before moving even further down. He takes Greg's ankles and gently maneuvers them so that the positively dishy detective inspector lays with his knees bent, his feet flat on the bed, his thighs and knees spread, before laying between those muscled and lovely thighs, and dipping his head to lap at his lover's sack and the cleft of his bottom, tongue seeking out the tight ring that lay hidden within.

The scent of body wash mostly masked the taste and scent of Greg's skin, but Mycroft still committed it to memory as the tip of his tongue brushed and teased the spot he was looking for. His tongue worked the surface until Greg was absolutely mind-blown with a craving for more, tilting his hips and squirming and groaning Mycroft's name and gripping his short ginger hair. It was only when Greg was close to begging that he finally dipped in, probing and swiping and gently opening until he felt the muscle relax some. He indulged himself, just enjoying the taste of the man and the sounds he was capable of making, before withdrawing his tongue and kissing Greg's thighs.

He took a moment, then, to sit up and just watch the man as he panted and whimpered and writhed, spread out all warm and delicious-looking on his bed. He would give away his fortune, every penny, to see this sight, see this man so unwound with wanton pleasure, every night for the rest of his life. He gets to his knees and bows his head and kisses Greg's chest, his sternum just over his heart. "I love you, Gregory" he whispers against the sparsely-haired skin, "so fucking much."

Mycroft sits up again, reaching for the bedside table, producing a bottle of lubricant from the drawer, and dribbles a generous amount into his palm before snapping the lid closed and tossing the bottle somewhere on the bed. He rubs his hands together to warm the liquid, then lets it teasingly drip down from his palms onto Greg's length and down, down, between his thighs and into the crease of his bottom. He watches Greg's face as one hand circles the detective's cock, the other hand slipping down between his thighs, his thumb stroking the sweet spot of his perineum while his slippery fingers find the sensitive ring again, pressing in easily this time. One slender finger sliding deep into him becomes two, becomes three, pushing and stretching and spreading and fluttering and curving and brushing against Greg's prostate with every delicious stroke.

 

Lestrade is all whimper, moaning and choked swears as he winds and tangles himself in the sheets, so literally at Mycroft's mercy of his darn skillful fingers and tongue..  
So as the other probes with his slicky fingers, aiming and actually hitting on his prostate, the detective inspector jumps a few inches up the mattress and gives an animalistic kind of howl.  
He is no longer in control of himself and his senses, clearly, hands despairingly clawed into the soft messy fabric beneath him, like it's almost too much for him to take.. and realisation strikes that his lover would be able to finish him off with just fingers so easily...  
The inspector knows that he is supposed to relax and just take it so they can go on, but that's a pretty hard deal now.. when fingers aren't enough anymore and he fucking wants more.  
He can watch himself throbbing in need, giving a soft groan and his eyes linger around the room unfocused until they meet Mycroft's ... and the blown dark pupils give away the plea.  
"Fuck..", Lestrade breathes incapable of catching his breath.. not even in the slightes. "I.. can't. God, Mycroft... please, now.."

And as he feels the fingers withdraw, he gives another deep-throated growl and shakingly manages to get up.  
His fingers run over Mycroft's chest, along the neck and he steal himself one last deep and trusting kiss, before their eye contact breakes. He trust his lover, completely, and all the inspector wants now is feel him, gets lovingly fucked by him... in an attempt to make them both forget their names.  
One last shared breath before Lestrade sinks back down and rolls himself flat onto the belly, arms crossed in front of him and dipped into the soft pillow which smells so much and familiar like his lover... he's waiting, heart pounding in the man's chest.

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Mycroft rummaging in the drawer again for the quite obvious purpose to get hold of a condom. But Lestrade cranes his neck, as he looks at the other, with a soft shine in his hazel eyes, his words low and affectionate.  
"You needn't.. I'm clean."  
And he smiles, because surely, Mycroft knows, for he is Mycroft Holmes the man with probably the most intimiate files of every person living in England laying on his desk - and if he doesn't, there is this identification card in the wallet in the detective inspector's backpocket, saying donor.  
Lestrade is in for blood donation once a month and he's also got an organ donor card because he's always thought that helping the unlucky bastards in hospital is something everyone with a full working body system should do.  
So.. if Mycroft wanted him to, the detective inspector would be all too willing to get up and get the thing from the bathroom to show him. Even if he's not quite sure how his legs are gonna work at the moment..

 

Mycroft wouldn't ever tell Greg, but he did for a fact know that his partner was clean. Even if he hadn't known, he would have suspected that Greg didn't take any unnecessary chances, even though he'd been married for some time... but it put his mind and heart at ease to hear it from him directly.

They had used protection their first time, which had been the smart thing to do with a new lover, but if Mycroft were honest, he longed to feel Greg inside him, really inside him, skin to skin, and longed to have felt the warm pulse of his lover's seed spilling into him.

Mycroft himself was clean, tested regularly just for the sake of it as part of his semi-annual general health checks, though he hadn't taken a lover in several years and the ones he'd had previously he'd used every precaution with. With Greg, he'd reached for the condoms simply out of the interest of being cautious though deep in his mind and heart he craved to have a go at him with no barrier. So when Greg turned over for him and assumed the position and told him in basic terms to skip the condom, Mycroft chuckled and huffed a bit of a sigh of relief.

His heart swelled even more that Greg trusted him in such a delicate matter. He climbed up on the bed again, between Greg's calves, and leaned down to kiss lower back, up his spine, and stopped to lick and suck at at a spot between his shoulder blades before finishing his track up the back of his neck to his ear.

"Thank you," he says softly. "It should go without saying, but I will tell you that I am clean as well and I look forward to exploring all the glorious ways we can enjoy each other because of that knowledge." He presses one more kiss to Greg's shoulderblade, then gently pushes at his shoulder. "Turn over. I want to see your face. I want to kiss you while I make love to you."

Once Greg was situated on his back, Mycroft gently cupped one leg behind the knee and moved it up to rest Greg's calf on his shoulder and smoothed the other hand down the handsome detective's abdomen. He caught the detective's gloriously dark eyes and whispered an "I love you" as he lined himself up, and gave the first gentle push. Their bodies slid together almost effortlessly and Mycroft had to bite back a cry of overwhelming emotion as he felt himself sink into the beautifully tight, silken heat. "Oh... Gregory..." he finally managed to choke out as he completely sheathed himself inside his lover.

After a long moment of simply savoring the feeling of their bodies being joined, Mycroft leans forward and kisses Greg gently, then pulls back slightly and gives an experimental thrust. They're so intimately joined, it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins and as such, he isn't sure if the pleasured groan that fills the room comes from himself, his lover, or both of them simultaneously. So he does it again. Oh... definitely both.

 

Lestrade felt a shiver running down his entire spine when Mycroft's words hit his ear.. and exhaled heavily as he turned around to give his lover a loving and understanding smile. "Come 'ere..."  
And then, his ears ring again with Mycroft's sweet whispers and there is no more room for thinking or proper articulating as the detective inspector feels the other sliding in, slowly..  
His eyes widen and he tells himself to keep breathing.. just breathing while his heart is pounding up to his throat, eye contact never broken as they join together. Mycroft may not have as much breadth as he's got, but god he's long...

Lestrade gasps for air, pants Mycroft's name and a choked "I love you" just as his lover burries himself into him, in order to distract himself from the initial pain which normaly comes with the first act of penetration.. Until the stinging sensation subsides and becomes nothing but pleasure and pure, hot lust. The inspector groans, writhes up in the sheets and bucks his hips to urge himself against his lover, taking more of him.. as much as possible.  
His whole body stiffened in the first precious moments and he cannot really control that.. but Mycroft's moan into his ears, thus the sudden tightness lets him grin unconsciously. But the expression fades soon as the inspector is overwhelmed and washed away by the sheer feelings seething in him. God, Mycroft is in him... really in him hot and pulsing and this is... god, it's..  
As the other moves his hips experimentally, Lestrade has to grit his teeth again and snap for air but when a pair of beautiful - concerned - eyes fix him, the detective inspector manages a sloppy grin. "Do.. do that again..." he breathes and his eyes tell he means it, with all his heart.  
And on the second time, Mycroft is able to streak that spot in him slightly with his lenght.. good enough to make the inspector groan and put his arms around his lover, kissing him fiercly. So, bit by bit they get the hang of a combined sweet and hot rhythm... Lestrade getting louder almost gradually, not giving a damn about the moans and lustful crys coming from him.

 

Mycroft is as gentle as he can be with his lover through the first initial strokes. He sees the discomfort in Greg's eyes, their coupling bordering the pleasure/pain threshold, and Mycroft does his level best to soothe him through it. He is patient, whispering words and murmurs of encouragement and love until their eyes meet and he sees relief and comfort and trust in those warm brown eyes.

A few more experimental strokes and they've found their rhythm and angle, and Mycroft eases them into a smooth pace. He's encouraged by Greg's enthusiastic participation, and every sound the man makes is like an electric bolt that goes straight to Mycroft's balls. He sucks Greg's tongue as they rock together, humming and moaning with each delicious thrust. The only other time he'd ever had a lover face to face was the first time with Greg, at his flat, but with the roles reversed. It was beautiful and intimate and intense and he's decided that while 'from behind' is lovely, this, face to face, eye to eye, will forever be his favorite way of making love. Especially this first time, Greg deserved all of that, to be made love to, not just fucked.

He'd like to talk. He'd like to say things to Greg, tell him how good he feels, how much he loves him, how badly he's wanted to feel this, but he's embarrassingly close already and Greg is so tight and hot around him that it's hard to concentrate on anything except making sure Greg gets properly pleasured. He wants to feel his beloved coming around him, squeezing him tightly with each pulse, body stiffened from the intensity and exertion.

In an effort to keep himself from pitching over the edge too soon, he slows down, sticking to a shallow, gentle stroke that allows him to nudge Greg's prostate with every single push. He turns his head and presses a wet kiss to the inside of Greg's knee as it's draped over his shoulder. "Love..you... so much.." he finally groans out as he's able to clear his head a little with the slower pace. "Can't wait to feel you... want to feel you coming, Gregory.."

 

Lestrade is completely mentally lost in their course of action, the sensations and feelings mingled and his blood rushing through his veins and whooshing in the detective's ears like a storm.  
He watches Mycroft, as much as he can muster without loosing his mind absolutely.So he watches his lover's chest heaving as he thrusts into him carefully and of course his gaze wanders further down and southward.. to stare at the point there they're connected.  
The visual affirmation lets him groan with a whole lot of pure emotions. Fuck... fuck... fuck, is everything which finds a place to linger in Lestrade's occupied brain at the moment and fortunately he's got Mycroft mouth on his own at this instant, so he doesn't give nonsense and instead can show Mycroft, how much he likes it. His tongue is giving the other a not so subtle clue what and how he'd like and Mycroft - not to any surprise - followers in actions instantly... making the inspector moaning out loud.

As Mycroft slows the pace a bit, kissing him, Lestrade he can feel, and also see, that he's unambiguously closer to the climax than he's yet and an initial idea crosses the detective's mind. Maybe the other will hesistate with this but the Lestrade knows an - admittedly proven - way that's able to bring him to the edge quite effectively.. and fast. His lover may prefer the other way but to be honest, he actually likes the idea of being taken from behind, and not only the idea, though it has not so much to do with the act of submission rather then the feeling itself..

So when Mycroft kisses his inner tight and tells him his desire with a love-thick voice, there is nothing to hold the inspector anmyore - He stills and breathes a choked "Stop...wai-wait one moment... please.." his voice is hoarse a bit but without a sign of displeasure.  
Nevertheless he knows that Mycroft is eyeing him very aware, as he turns around on his stomach again - very unhappyly loosing the intimate contact for one moment, but it'll be worth it, he's sure.  
Lestrade pushes himself halfway up his hands and knees, so that he's hovering in front of the other, looking back at him with an encouraging but also pleading expression in his eyes and smiles. "Trust me.."  
And as Mycroft does so, leaning over him and joining them again ably and more quickly than Lestrade expected, the detective inspector gives a choked gasp. His whole back stiffenes and he has to grab the sheets in front of him to get hold of something to cling to.  
The angle is perfect and deep and makes his vision blur, as is Mycroft's warm weight behind and half over him.  
And as they move again - Mycroft resuming his initial pace - Lestrade actually seems to be falling in some kind of intoxication by the sheer sensation of it. He rocks his hips back against his lover, anything but passive in this formation and his groan has transformed in some sort of animalistic growl - gotten wild and unbound. Like.. he's complete coming undone now.  
The fact that his erection is literally scrubbing the mattress with every of Mycroft's strokes is doing it's own deliciously insane thing and as Lestrade can't bear it anymore, his hand flys there, giving a low whimper.

Slipping into Greg from behind produced a completely new set of sensations Mycroft was wholly unprepared for. He'd been concerned at first when Greg stopped him, but when he turned over and presented his beautiful ass, all thoughts of making love went right out the window. The plane of Greg's lean, muscled back and shoulders, his hips, arms, all begged to be grabbed and licked and bitten and completely appreciated.

Mycroft settled into a comfortable pace, slipping out then pushing in as deep as he could go, holding onto Greg's hips for more leverage. The depth, the angle, the tightness, the sensation of their thighs and balls pressing together with each forward stroke, only stoked Mycroft's fire even further. He could feel Greg tightening, his body preparing for what could only be a rocketing orgasm.

"Fuck. Gregory. God, you... amazing... creature." He grunts out in between thrusts that are becoming harder as Greg becomes tighter. He notices Greg's hand slip between his thighs, no doubt to push himself over the edge. Mycroft leans over him and nips the middle of his back, reaching under to grip Greg's hand, helping him stroke himself. "Come for me, Gregory," he growls against Greg's skin.

Lestrade is more than willing to satisfy Mycroft's wish... he's very close now as his breath comes in short puffs and he can feel the heat bulding up in his lower region.. soon about to erupt. Mycroft is literally fucking him like a dog now, but Lestrade can't say he doesn't like it...Maybe it's just this, this dirty though about what they' are doing right now, lingerin in the back of his head.. and doing that with Mycroft is really something else. As his lovers reaches low to support him with his hand the inspector gives a helpless groan and appreciatively leaves him to it. His own hand travels for a short moment along Mycroft's slender arm and the small silver bracelet Lestrade's still wearing - as the only thing he is in fact wearing right now - tickles the soft freckled skin. He reaches until he can touch their testicles, both equally tight and strained and he knows how to read that and that he can let himself fall soon.

But under the devoted strokes which Mycroft is providing him, now in a delightful double-way of pleasuring, the inspector can't hold himself steady anymore. He partly collapses to the soft bed and sinks down on his lower arms with a hearty groan, still keeping his weight mostly on his knees to leave Mycroft enough room with his hand.  
This way the other can shove himself generously on top of him and Mycroft's weight lets Lestrade growl in thrilled approval. His back is bent and so is his neck, giving his lover a wide range of space to kiss and bite the delicate skin.  
And that does it. Very much.  
A few more strokes and the detective inspector comes into Mycroft's carefull fingers, head thrown back and lustfully howling as the orgasm washes over him, tensing up his whole body and this way giving the sensation through to Mycroft.

Feeling Greg climax under him was a whole-body experience. Mycroft had bitten him between the shoulders just before Greg came with a roar of pleasure, the taste and scent of his sweat-slick skin oddly intoxicating; he could feel muscles tremor and the skin tense between his teeth and against his tongue. He could feel Greg's cock throb in his hand and his balls tighten against his own. He could feel the muscles in his thighs tighten while the ones in his arms gave out. He could feel Greg's ass clench along his entire length, which drew a passionate cry from his throat. Feeling Greg's hand sneaking beneath them to touch them both simultaneously had sent a shiver down his spine that coiled low in his gut and then finally, finally he felt the warm rush of Greg coming on his hand.  
He stroked his lover through the powerful climax, near-unintelligible words of love and praise spilling from his lips against Greg's back. Holding those slender hips again, it was precisely three more deep strokes before Mycroft buried himself entirely and let go, his own climax pulsing deep inside his lover in time with the trembling aftershocks of the delicious end that Greg was coming down from.  
Mycroft slumped over Greg's back, releasing the grip on his love's hips and leaning on the bed. He feathered kisses along Greg's spine, across his shoulders, and up his neck to his ear. "I love you Gregory, you fucking beautiful,amazing man," he whispered breathlessly before nipping the ear affectionately.  
He gave a pleased sigh as he worked himself out of the tightness of Greg's ass, enjoying a few final shallow strokes as he backed out. He bent his head and kisses the curve of his lover's perfect backside, gave one side an affectionate pat, then moved to lay down beside him, feeling exhausted and heavy and happy and complete.

Lestrade slumps down on the matress beside him, breathing in the pillow and keeping his eyes carefully shut. Because - he doesn't say it - but his brain is literally fucked up, the entire world spinning around him.. in some crazy way of upside down, which fits quite perfectly with the still hammering beat in his chest and the soft shaking of his arms and legs. But it's a nice feeling, actually. So complete done and bright.  
If it's always like that with Mycroft, the inspector can absolutely imagine getting used to that... this sort of love-making, even if it's turned out rather messy in the end.  
When the detective inspector is sure he can form some accurate thoughs in his brain again, he turns his head in Mycroft's direction with a soft groan and smiles. "Arrh... stop showering me with praise, I ain't sure I've got 'nuff blood up there right now to blush ..."  
At least he does the attempt and finally turns to his side, to sling one arm around his lover who is still breathing in a little rush, just like him.  
Lestrade eyes the other affectionately up and down, even if he feels like sleeping for a thousand years right now... With the alcohol, then the hot water and finally bloody-everything-of-Mycroft.  
He grins "That was .. fuckin' amazing, I owe you that" before he snuggles closer, nudging Myroft neck and ear softly with his nose. "Love you."

They lay a short while in complete, comfortable silence and share a breath that finally soothes a bit.... and Lestrade nearly doozed off in the pleasing warmth of Mycroft's body and the blanket. But then the man opens his eyes again, blinking and reaches with a lazy finger to trace the other's jawline gently as he mumbles against his shoulder "You know, you could just call me Greg. Everyone else does." But then, Mycroft is hardly everyone... Lestrade realizes.

 

Laying in bed in the arms of his beloved Gregory, Mycroft is completely, utterly sated. He feels a sort of bone-deep satisfaction that he hasn't ever experienced, and it's all thanks to this amazing man. It was everything sex should be - fun, passionate, beautiful, dirty, loud, loving. In his still-drunk, climax-addled brain he allows his filter and his barriers to come down, which leads him to thinking of the possibility of many, many nights and mornings just like this, with Greg on him and in him and all around him, then laying in a blissed-out tangle of limbs and basking in the afterglow.

Mycroft laughs softly at Greg's a proclamation about his name. He tucks his arm under his lover's head and turns on his back, drawing the handsome detective inspector against his chest. His hand smooths down the warm plane of his back and comes back up to slowly, idly stroke the spot between shis shoulders that Mycroft had previously bitten.

"I'm not everyone else, darling. I rather like the way your name sounds and feels when I say it. 'Gregory... '" He smiles at the name, and kisses its namesake' brow lovingly. "If you prefer it though, I'll stick to Greg."

Lestrade looks up with an affectionate glow in the dark eyes. "No, you really aren't. More like.. you're really something..." he grins and the comfortable silence is back for a short instance.  
The detective thinks over the other's words, then eventually shakes his head softly. "Naah, I'm fine with Gregory, it's just.. I haven't heard that in a while. I mean, before you..." he shifts his weight a bit so he can travel with his fingers downside Mycroft's neck and to the sparsely haired chest, thoughtfully resting there for a moment as he lets his memories drift. "My ex.. erm, former wife, she'd only used that longer version when she was angry about stuff... so no good association there. And before that only my mum used to call me Gregory. You know what mums are like.. "  
The detective chuckles and thus misses the short instant as a shadow flies over Mycroft's expression over the remembrance of ones mother. Though Lestrade doesn't give the other much time to sink into unpleasant reminiscences when he continues talking "But actually, I like you calling me Gregory. I dunno it's just... it's special somehow... .. poshy.."  
His words became slur towards the ending, a bit drowsy even and one does not need the holmesian delicate eye to see that the man's tired from all the sweet drinks and the even more delicious love making.

So Lestrade snuggles up to his lover and gives in to his awfully heavy lids. A soft mumble streaking Mycroft's ear "Sorry.." a stifled yawn "..but you really did me today.. "  
Mycroft listens as intently as he can, given the soft tone Greg speaks in, his gentle Somerset accent still prominent in every word spoken. It's like a lullaby until the mention of mothers comes up and a little sadness flashes in his mind as he's reminded that he really should call his mother more frequently. It passes though, as Greg carries on. Mycroft understands the negative connotation behind using his full name instead of its short-form. He uses the short form mentally, but when he speaks it, it unconsciously comes out 'Gregory'. He truly does prefer the longer form, but if his beloved asked it of him he would adapt.  
"You keep using the word Poshy, but you love that I'm a dapper English gentleman," he smirks. "As I said, I like the way it sounds. But, I understand. I hope that my using your full name helps insert good, new memories in place of the negative ones, but if you wish me to I'll start calling you Greg." He draws in a long breath, his face pressed against Greg's hair, and let's it out in a quick rush of a happy sigh, relaxing fully. "Mm... Gregory." he says softly, just enjoying the taste and feel of his name. "Rest, now." he says softly as Greg yawns. "I love you."  
"I love you too", Lestrade mumbles back, eyes still closed again and voice somewhere deep in the pillow near Mycroft's ear. "I love you for bein' the most poshy~ist gentleman I known and that's really... I like it.. " He really does though, even if he might not be able to properly express it. It's the elegance and the unfamiliar, confident way of doing things that totally caught him in the other's net - to stay there quite voluntarily and pleased. Though, sometimes Lestrade still has this small nagging voice in the back of his head, asking why someone like Mycroft Holmes would even bother with a detective inspector from the Yard, of all people.. only because he happens to have a connection to his younger brother, keeping an eye on him. But that's too delicate and probably plainly stupid thoughts for his alcohol and sleep deprived brain at the moment. Instead he gives a small comfortable groan and moves closer to Mycroft's warm and welcoming body.

He really can't explain it, but this is something special and therefore he would like the other to stick with Gregory. And that's the last few soft words coming from the inspector, as he falls asleep... curled up beside Mycroft, feeling secure and somewhat like home in the comfortable spacious bed.

~*~


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning teases them with a couple soft ray of lights falling through the half closed jalousie and let the detective inspector groan in anguish. He feels like his head is going to explode... Well not literally, thank God, but the headache he's having is one of that kind that tells you quite clearly that you fucking overdid it the other night. And in this case also, that he isn't as much used to drinks as he was in his twenties. To put it simple, Lestrade awakes with a proper hangover, miserably winding himself deeper into the sheets and the fluffy pillow. A choked groan is the only thing telling Mycroft that his lover is still alive after last night's enjoyment and actually awake.   
"Gnnnnhg..."  
Lestrade gives another groan but takes the two pills and the water from Mycroft with a grateful smile. "Sounds like a fucking awesome plan, granted!" He gulps the pills down with a messy grin, because every playing of facial expression hurts his brain at the moment to be quite honest and then let's the rest of the water follow. He fairly could use more, and also Mycroft seems pretty aware of that, because after the inspector had slumped down on the mattress again and kept his eyes shut for a moment, he hears his lover setting a water bottle down beside the bed near his arm before the vanishes in the bathroom again. Unfortunately with some fresh clothes laid neatly over this arm. 

The soft smile on Lestrade's face won't fade as he dozes for a while until the pills show their effect and Mycroft is done in the shower.. and with stuff the british Government uses to do in the bathroom at morning. The detective is quite curious, but he stays in bed for the time being and listens to the soft swooshing of the running water, mind busily filled with memories of last night...   
To be perfectly honest, his head is not the only thing that hurts.... there is this soft throbbing sensation in lower regions - to be precise - in his ass and somehow this if funny because he probably will be having a hard time sitting on a chair.. or any kind of solid surface today and Lestrade can lively imagine Mycroft's face. But to be right fair, he's also a bit proud and even fancies that sensation a bit... for it just.. feels more real.

 

When Mycroft finally leaves the bathroom to him, stepping outside the damp room all posh and dressed up in a casual way of fashionable, Lestrade firstly remembers that it's sunday and at the same time feels even more a messy hungovered clot still haning around in bed. Even more, as he remembers that he actually hasn't got any spare clothing in Mycroft's place and putting on the stuff from last night after a proper shower.. well, he would prefer walking around naked, to put it bluntly.

 

Mycroft figures Greg's probably going to be properly knackered and useless most of the day as he recovers from his fairly severe hangover, and he's likely to be quite sore as well from their rather enthusiastic night of lovemaking. He takes his time in the shower, enjoying the hot water beating on his tired body, and letting his memories run rampant from the night before and he can't help the smile on his face. Finally, he finishes his morning routine, slips into a pair of comfortable jeans and a soft, lightweight v-neck jumper. 

He exits the bathroom with his dressing gown draped over his shoulder. He smiles at Greg, who appears to still be in and out of sleep, and goes to his closet to pull out some pajama bottoms and an old, soft Eton tee shirt. While it'd been decades since he'd attended the posh public school for boys, he still supported the school and they reguarly sent him branded gifts which he wore with pride when not at work. 

He laid the dressing gown and the clothes at the foot of the bed and walked over to kneel next to Greg, stroking his face lightly. "I've laid out something for you to wear for the morning, love. I'm going to go knock together breakfast for you, then I'm going to borrow your keys and head over to your place and get you some proper clothes." He shushes his lover quietly as he starts to protest, despite his discomfort. "No, no, let me do this for you. You make yourself at home here, rest as long as you need to. I'll have one of my drivers take me there and I'll bring your car back so you have it if you should get a call from work." 

He bows and kisses Greg's lips gently and strokes his hand down the muscular arm and side. "I love you darling. Feel better soon." 

 

And so, Lestrade can't do anything other than give in to Mycroft's caring fingers and thoughts. It's not that he doesn't like it.. it just more like he isn't used to this kind of caring and being looked after, actually hasn't had it in a long while. So when Mycroft hands him the clothes and kisses him good morning properly, all the inspector can do is grin stupidly. Then he manages to sit upright - and mostly stay like this - as he rubs his face with both palms to get rid of the sleepiness and the dizzy spin behind his forehead. 

When Mycroft is in the magnificent kitchen, working his magic, Lestrade's having a shower. The messy heap of his clothes on the floor has vanished, probably given to a cleaner's by his lover, but his wallet is laying on a stool near the bathroom sink.  
Lestrade takes a thoroughly shower but doesn't dare to take too much from the expensive looking shower gel. Instead he goes for the soap and afterwards rubbing himself with a fresh large towel.   
Then he is having a look on the stuff Mycroft's given to him. The pyjama bottoms are somewhat wide and comfortable but the detective wonders a bit about the shirt.... He holds it in front of his chest and after a try it appears to fit fairly good... it's in fact a bit wide on him and that is actually the strange thing. Considering his lover's slim stature this shirt must be one or two sizes too big. But it's apparently a shirt that Mycroft has worn himself in his youth....  
Lestrade frowns at himself in the mirror but gives up to solve this riddle on his own at the moment, so he brushes his teeth with a second tooth brush laid out for him on the sink and runs a hand over his visible three-days stubble. That will do, at least he's feeling somewhat human again and is looking forward for a nice breakfast very much.

Taking the wallet with him, Lestrade leaves the bathroom and some time later joins Mycroft in the big kitchen. A soft music is playing from somewhere.. maybe it's radio, maybe something else... But the inspector is too focused on his lover anyways. He steps behind the other, grabbing him softly in a warm hug while he is busy cutting some kind of wierd looking fruits.   
Lestrade is fine with fruits, as long as there is also toast and eggs and bacon - which is all already presented neatly on the stand beside them. "That looks good..", he hums softly into Mycroft's ear. 

 

Mycroft's surprised to see Greg up and about already but pleasantly so. He still looks tired and achey but definitely looks as if he's feeling better. His hair sticks up adorably, still warm and fresh from the shower and he looks precious in Mycroft's slightly oversized clothes.

He stops his cutting when warm, strong arms wrap around his waist and he smiles. "Good morning love. How's the head?" He wipes his hands on a nearby handtowel and turns around in his love's embrace, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and kissing the tip of his nose. "Hope you're hungry, I didn't know what you like so I put a few things together. 

After leaving the bedroom, Mycroft took his time making Greg a decent breakfast - Not the full English, but lots of protein and carbs to help get him back on his feet. Bacon and ham, eggs, oatmeal, toast, coffee, juice, and he was just finishing slicing a mango to add to the mix of satsuma and banana slices he'd mixed up into a fruit salad. It was well-hidden, but Mycroft had a bit of a domestic streak in him, and while he couldn't really cook fancy food, he knew how to make a good comforting breakfast and he'd hoped Greg would enjoy it. 

 

Lestrade cheeky smile couldn't be any wider. A few things literally must be the whole of Mycroft's stocks because there's practically food everywhere. So the inspector's sure the other knows - best way to him is obviously through his stomach, and Mycroft so far is doing an excellent job with that.   
He feels his mouth water, even over the somewhat funny looking fruit salad and because his lover isn't finish yet, his neck has to do for a first, affectionate bite that leaves room for more delicious things. "Head's alright", the inspector murmurs, eyes not leaving Mycroft's skillful fingers, als he recalls something specific other these are good at than kitchen work... "And yea, starving. I can assure you, I like bloody all of that."  
He gives Mycroft a last messy kiss right behind the ear and strolls off to make himself useful a bit. This includes taking their cups with coffee and tea to the dining table and laying the plates and cutlery for them. 

And then he sits down on one of the chairs, very carefully but he can't help the slight grimace as he does so. A quick look to Mycroft, though he won't ask for a pillow, no way, because that would be too ridiculous really.. A few sips from the strong, black coffee direct his thoughts away from his sore backside and to Mycroft's former words. "Put my keys on that small cabinet in the hall. But can't you just send someone to my place? Really don't want ya driving all way there and go through the mess in my closets." The man huffs a uncertain snort and takes another sip as Mycroft joins him at the table, hands full with delicious stuff. 

Some short time after they are having the lavish breakfast, or more likely, Lestrade is stuffing himself and watches Mycroft taking a few bites at times. To be honest, he also doesn't want Mycroft to go for the basic fact that he won't be here with him at that time then. But the inspector understands that he can't hardly take a cab wearing a pajama bottom and casual oversized shirt.   
Their feet tangle playfully under the table and Lestrade encourages the tentative soft kicks with his own, holding eye contact as he chews quite cheerfully and drops a messy amount of bread crumbs down on his plate. 

 

Mycroft shivered at the gentle bites and kisses Greg left on the back of his neck and grinned over his shoulder at his lover, pleased to see him feeling playful despite being utterly demolished when he woke up. He slides the last few pieces of fruit into a bowl and gives it a stir while Greg teases him, then puts two plates together as Greg saunters away to make coffee. 

"I suppose I could send someone. I honestly thought you'd be down for the count most of the day, so if you want to wait, your clothes from last night should be clean soon, we can go over together. I thought we could bring a few things over here for what I can only imagine will be multiple future overnight stays." He turns and watches Greg move around the kitchen, a smile on his face. "Though I love the sight of you parading around in my pajamas." 

He bends and kisses Greg tenderly and rubs the back of his neck as he sets the plate of food in front of his love, then sits opposite him with his own plate, thoroughly enjoying seeing him tuck right in to his meal. He couldn't help but notice Greg sitting a bit stiffly and winced a bit at the thought that his love was uncomfortable because of him. "Can I get you a pillow darling, or something softer to sit on? You look a little uncomfortable..." He frowns a bit. 

Over that, Lestrade's face gets actually quite red all over. He almost chokes on the bite he's been chewing on and reaches for his glass to take a gulp before he frowns back at Mycroft. "No thanks, it's perfectly alright. Just a bit... ah, never mind I can handle." The man clears his throat and continues eating, hopes high that Mycroft won't ask any further because now that is awkward, isn't it? The pills the other had given him actually work pretty accurate, though the inspector is going to take it easy today. Just a nice cozy sunday around Mycroft's .. and he truly want to have a closer look at that enormous garden he'd spotted last night when he was guided through the house.   
But to be honest, Lestrade really fancies the thought to have some of his is regular stuff around here, as the other makes the suggestion. Mycroft's got enough space around and Lestrade doesn't fail to see his lover's subtle but loving attempt to mingle their lifes and households a bit... well he's a detective after all and the longer he is with his new lover the better he is able to read him.. at least he hopes. Mycroft Holmes is still one of the most enigmatic and inscrutable people he knows.. what is appealing in a strange sort of way. And so he nods after another bite.   
"Can do that. I'd rather I go through my stuff and mess things up, than you have to deal with my very own way of keeping things sorted. I guess you know about Sherlock's sock index..."

They both grin in an easy and comfortable understanding before the detective inspector tuggs at his shirt. "Mh and yea those are quite comfy, no problem keeping them on for a while." He doesn't bother asking Mycroft about giving his stuff to a cleaner's even the well-worn leatherjacket because he is fine with that. He is used to girlfriends cleaning up his mess even if he argued about that like a hundred times and told them not to. Yea, maybe his kind of lifestyle is a bit rough-and-tumble but he manages quite well .. not to mention he'd cleaned his flat for two hours when he expected Mycroft for dinner the first time. 

It would be lunch before a courier would be by to drop off Greg's clothing, according to the message Anthea sends to Mycroft,so the men have ample time to just enjoy some quiet time. After Greg eats his fill of breakfast, Mycroft clears the table, leaving the dishes for his housekeeper, and holds out a hand to help Greg to his feet. After a sweet kiss, he leads the man to the sitting room where they spend the time between breakfast and clothing delivery cuddled up on the plush couch, relaxing and simply enjoying each others company.   
Mycroft sits at the end of the long couch, letting Greg recline against him and stretch out along the length of the couch. He lays an arm across the man's torso, palm gently smoothing over Greg's belly as they chat about everything and nothing. Work and Greg's kids and Sherlock and what each others likes and dislikes are. They spend the time to get to know each other and its time both men cherish. He's glad he decided not to leave, not that he wanted to go anywhere without his lovely inspector. Greg is warm and smells delicious and his weight against Mycroft's body is comforting and brings the elder Holmes a sense of bliss rarely seen before the Silver Fox came into his life.   
As expected, lunch time comes and so does the courier with Greg's freshly laundered clothes. When Greg goes to change, Mycroft halts him with another kiss. "Stay with me again tonight, Greg. I want to fall asleep I am your arms and wake up at your side again." He says with a soft smile. "Bring your work clothes when we come back, so you can go straight to work from here tomorrow." 

Lestrade enjoys the cosy hours after breakfast shared with Mycroft on the spacious sofa. That thing is bloody soft and comfy even if it didn't give that impression in the first place. And the inspector finds himself sinking into the plush and against his lover with pleased growl, as they talk about nothing in particular except for rubbish trivia, and later on when he zapps through the ridiculously wide range of channels on the even more ridiculous gigantic LCD telly which Mycroft uses very rarely, it seems.   
Lestrade watches a couple of minutes of a high definition football game, with his feet still lazily on the sofa, but he actually never stops talking to he other. And he listens carefully, memorizing every small detail Mycroft is willing to give him, which isn't so much at all but that's okay.   
Most of the time, it's Lestrade who's talking and he is quite delighted that Mycroft is so eager to find out more about his kids, asking questions, and so he tells him a whole bunch of anecdotes, grinning, sometimes with a snort or a laugh even. But at some points the inspector seems to have a hard time bringing out the words out at all, because he actually gets to see his children only once a month... or every three weeks if he's lucky, because of the children's mother and it hurts him to even think about how much of he misses watching them grow up.   
In fact, so he tells the other, he's quite surprised about their height every time they meet...  
Mycroft turns out be a very good listener, maybe he needs that for his work in the government, but Lestrade's quite sure it's not the facile polite attention he's getting and when the courier arrives they're definitely not done having a sweet talk.

When the detective changes into the freshly laundered clothes, leaving the jacket aside and just putting on the grey shirt again, he takes a last deep sniff of Mycroft's shirt before he leaves the sleeping stuff folded passably in the bedroom.   
Mycroft's words - his suggestion.. or rather his request - spin around his head and he tries to overthink his work schedule for tomorrow. Its monday, bloody worst thing of all, but he thinks he can manage... has to somehow. So his answer to the other as he returns fairly dressed a moment later is "Alrighto" and he takes the keys from the cabinet in the hall to join Mycroft at the door. 

The black posh car is already waiting and London's empty streets on a sunday midday let them reach their destination quite smoothly as they head for the inspector's flat.   
Compared to Mycroft's it looks even more small and bachelory and Lestrade thinks about letting his lover wait in the doorway or in the car for him to pack his stuff, but that's ridiculous and Mycroft has actually seen it before. So when the elder Holmes take a seat on the dark leather sofa, Leather dashes of to get hands on a large sports bag and starts to throw stuff inside. Last time he did that had been when he moved out of their house .. his ex wife yelling at him and trying to hit him with a bloody vase.   
This is when Lestrade tries to remember when exactly his life became such a fucking mess.. but as he changes from the bedroom to the kitchen, seeing Mycroft sitting on the couch all confidence, patience and a warm smile on his lips the inspector can do nothing other than grin back at him. And he hums a soft tune as he continues packing.   
Eventually done Lestrade gets the impression that he has the bloody half of his whole household packed in the bag. Because it's damn heavy and he shoulders it with a light groan before heading downstairs to his car. After the bag is carefully thrown into the trunk of the BMW he holds the door for Mycroft and steals a cheeky kiss before he sinks onto the driving seat.   
Normally he's an excellent driver but given the state his brain is in at the moment he probably better keeps it easy a bit. So the engines roar and he ably manoeuvres the car out of it's parking lot, swearing a bit over that guy who put his bloody car's front too damn close his rear lights.

Mycroft loved listening to Greg talk about his children, but it broke his heart to hear how much he missed them. They sounded wonderful, and Mycroft found himself longing to meet them and spend time with them. Sitting on the couch with Greg reclined against him, flipping through the channels on the telly and watching a bit of football was just the domestic inspiration to make him imagine having the kids in his house - maybe one day their house - with them. Playing, doing homework, having meals together, spending holidays, and it all gave Mycroft a pleasant glowing warmth in his gut. He wanted that. But more than that, he wanted it for Greg and for the kids. One step at a time, though. 

He hopes he hasn't gone too fast or too far by asking Greg to stay another night. They had a fantastic, erotic, adventurous night the previous night and he looks forward to the next time they can have but Mycroft wants to be able to continue the day they're currently having - spending time together, cuddling, chatting, sharing, enjoying each other's company. He's relieved, then, when Greg agrees and they're off to the detective's flat to pick up his belongings. 

They cuddle together during the drive over to Greg's flat and Mycroft waits patiently for his lover to gather what belongings he needs from his closet. He chooses to sit in the living room, on the couch where he listens to some music until he hears Greg shuffle for the door, laden with heavy bags and working toward the door. He offers to take the bag, knowing Greg's still a bit under sorted from beig hung over, but as usual Greg refuses. He shrugs and at least opens the boot for him and takes his heavy duffel and sticks it in the car. He grins at Greg''s cheeky attempt at being proper and slides easily in th the passenger seat of Greg's car. He shivers when the engine roars to life and sits comfortably with his hand on top of Greg's as he backs out and maneuvers the silver car out of its space and the two men head toward home. 

On their way back, in the car, Lestrade informs Mycroft of the only condition he has to occupy the other's flat for another night: He will be in for making dinner this evening. The big holmesian kitchen is a real eye candy and he can only imagine what working his talent in it would be like. Sure his own equipment isn't that bad but Mycroft's got stuff like high end roasters and double layered thermo pans and whatnot.. 

So when they get back and the inspector parks the BMW pretty accurately beside his lover's black Jaguar he feels a soft tingle in his fingertips. Hm.. he could definitely get used to that. At least space is enough around the large parking lot joined to the estate.  
Back in the flat he puts the heavy back just down the floor, not sure about where to put it in the first place and he's not the type for spreading out in another's domicile so hastily. Only when he gets a meaninful look from the other he scratches his neck awkwardly. "Right.. I'll just put things in the bedroom, okay?" And so he does as Mycroft can hear the other rummaging in his bag, putting at least his stuff in the bathroom in place. Seeing his toothbrush joing with another is probably a bloody stupid reason to have certain feelings and a short mental flashback but the inspector can't help it... but in the end he grins to himself before joining the other again. 

So evening comes and as promised Lestrade hovers around the spacious kitchen, literally bouncing with anticipation and having a proper enthusiastic gaze into every cupboard and over the equipment. "What d'you like for dinner?" he hums in high spirit, not even looking up from the impressive cookery book he's found under the sink. He actually doesn't need the full instruction but only a quick look but it's a good impulse for Mycroft to think of something maybe. The more important question would be what they've got in store but to no surprise the small room joined to the kitchen is also literally stuffed with food of all sorts.   
Lestrade even spots a packet of veal.   
Oh he's so going to use that... 

 

Mycroft chuckles and readily agrees to let Greg have a go at his kitchen. It gets grossly underused, especially by him, but perhaps with Greg in his life it would become a more frequently-appreciated center of the home. It sets his imagination on fire once again, thinking of the gourmet meals Greg is obviously capable of making, and the pictures in his mind morph into ones of family meals shared and holiday meals prepared with love and care and intimate breakfasts or dinners between the two of them once in a while, and maybe even learning a thing or two about proper cooking as well. It makes him smile to think about and he gets that lovely warmth blossoming in his chest again. 

In order to allow Greg to use the gear shift of his car, they don't hold hands, but Mycroft keeps his hand rested on the back of Greg's seat, his thumb brushing Greg's shoulder as they make idle conversation. It's comfortable, not meant to stimulate or tickle, just wanting to keep in contact. When they arrive home, Mycroft smiles at the sight of their cars parked side by side. As they enter the house, he can see that Greg feels a bit out of sorts just making himself at home. He takes Greg's hand and lifts it to his lips before speaking. "When you're here, love, my home and everything in it is yours. Put your things away, make a space for yourself, get comfortable." Reluctantly, he sees Greg nod and take his things off to the bedroom to get settled in. 

A short time later, Mycroft takes great delight in watching Greg walk around the kitchen completely awe-struck by all the fancy gadgets and kitchen equipment. Greg asks him what he wants for dinner, but really he's got no clue. He's curious to see what Greg can come up with so he simply shrugs and grins. That earns him an eyeroll from Greg but the man goes right back to exploring the pantry and kitchen and comes out wielding a packet of veal that Mycroft's personal chef must have purchased. Mycroft sits forward at the countertop, leaning on his elbows, intrigued by what masterpiece his love could concoct and suddenly he's taken back to their very first night, their very first date. He gets up and walks into another room, touching the screen of his iPod that sits on its dock and soft music begins piping through the whole house via the intercom speakers. It's one of the soft rock ballads that played during their first dinner. 

 

Lestade can't help but grin both broadly and very knowingly as Mycroft strolls back to him in the kitchen, trying to give a casual impression but looking far too pleased with himself. "How I'm to concentrate like this?" he grows, putting one of the pans down with too much energy, producing an audible thud.  
He knows the song that is currently playing.. of course he does and it is distracting in a charming kind of way.

Normally the inspector needs to be alone in the kitchen to concentrate fully on his work, he's a man after all and multitasking is not really one of his strong points. But Mycroft is absolutely talented in being a discreet and unobtrusive, charming audience. At some point a slight shiver caused from the other's gaze running down his spine is everything Lestrade notices about Mycroft's presence. And Lestrade can do nothing other then give him a warm look once in a while.   
"You can have a look, you know." He nods to the heap of veal that is laying in front of him on the board, obviously not moving any more. "It's not like.. going to attack you or something." An amused huff "I'll make sure of that." And with that the premium meat gets some proper treatment, including knives and a remarkable amount of herbal spices, thrown with skillful hands.  
And then the inspector is head of heels into his work and shuts out everything else around him.  
This way the veal is soon deliciously joined by some small peeled potatoes and covered in a herbal liquor with rosemary as the prominent ingredient.  
The oven will do the finish and in the meantime Lestrade takes care of the dessert. No strawberries this time but he spots some bananas and there is a glass with chocolate mousse sitting on the small corner table.   
"Have you got...?" he starts but gives an appreciate hum instead, a small bag with shredded nuts already in hand. Oh this will make for an excellent banana split...

When everything is prepared and his hands sticky with chocolate sauce Lestrade turns to his lover, grinning. "This is gonna be good..."

 

Except for the music, Mycroft has been on his very best behavior, sitting quietly and simply observing Greg hard at work on dinner. It should be illegal for one man to look so incredibly appealing whilst slicing meat and prepping veg, honestly, and Mycroft wont show it but he has a very hard time keeping his hands to himself. 

He is extraordinarily thankful to whatever higher power that blessed him with this amazing man, whom he watches intently but wordlessly with a sort of lovesick, dazed expression on his face. When Greg suggests that Mycroft take a closer look at the veal on the counter, he gets up from his post next to the counter and crosses the kitchen, sliding his hands across his lover's hips, leaning against his broad, muscled back, and places a kiss on the back of Greg's neck. "Yes, darling, in true hunter-gatherer fashion I trust you to protect me from the big bad pile of veal loin..." he chuckles and presses a kiss to the strong shoulder, and allows his hands slide up to the other man's chest, resting over his heart for just a moment before letting him go.

"It all smells amazing, Greg, I can't wait to try it," he says as he goes back to his seat. A few minutes of quiet go by and he speaks again. "You look right at home in my kitchen. I could definitely get used to, and spoilt by, having you here all the time." 

When Greg turns to him with sticky fingers, Mycroft gestures for him to come closer. He hooks a finger in to one of Greg's belt loops and pulls him into the space between his knees and with his free hand, takes Greg's wrist and brings the sticky-sweet hand to his mouth, sucking the chocolate off his skin. After the digit comes away clean, Mycroft hums and grins. "Delicious." 

 

Lestrade is all flushed face in an instant and bites his lip to keep himself together. "Eh.. not fair", he growls and gives the other a mischievous smile that's maybe implying something but Mycroft doesn't get the chance to find out because the inspector is already back to his work.   
In fact he's always game for some small pleasantnesses but when it comes to cooking there is no time for playing around because there is nothing more horrifying than a black carbonised piece of something coming out of the oven when it's supposed to be their actual dinner.   
When Lestrade was practicing in the kitchen with his dad back then and they tried to make cookies for christmas, things went terribly wrong and they ended up with some ridiculously looking shit that was burned to a pitch black bulk.   
Since then the detective always has an eye on things when he's around the kitchen and in charge. 

But the time is just right and a short while later everything is laid deliciously in a neat arrangement on the big table and they tuck in with great appetite. Lestrade grins over his overstuffed plate, making a note that Mycroft's dishes are somewhat nice with the flourish and stuff and surely bloody expensive though, but they are a absolut loss for big eaters. It occurs to him that maybe even those ridiculous plates are a part of Mycroft's thoroughly keep diet and that's really something... Something he needs to end this very instant.   
"Have seconds, please. There's lots!" And like the first time he made them dinner he lets Mycroft decide which kind of drink they're going to enjoy their meal with, for the other's hands are always quite targeted and he's got exquisite taste.

 

Mycroft was impressed, amused, and very mildly disappointed that Greg was able to brush off his teasing and go right back to cooking. With a chuckle, he left his lover to the task of putting dinner together while he went to his wine storage to pick out a bottle to have with dinner. Mycroft opened the bottle and decanted it so it could breathe a while, then went back to watching as Greg worked on putting the finishing touches on their meal. As Greg plates their dinner, Mycroft pours them each a glass of the very fine shiraz and despite the attitude he's developed toward eating, Mycroft digs right into the fine meal. Everything about tonight reminds him of their first night together, from watching Greg cooking to the fine drink, to the delicious dessert and even the music. 

Greg's encouragement, trying to get him to eat more, is sweet. He recognizes that yeah, he's probably been a little overboard with the diet and exercise. Tonight, he decides to forego his concern about the diet. Greg's positively adorable in his enthusiasm, and the food is spectacular (as if there was a doubt) and so he does as his lover requests and goes back for seconds, but stops before he's too full for dessert. 

As he takes one final bite of dinner, which he finds it nearly impossible to stop, he sits back in his chair a bit, wipes his mouth on his napkin, has a sip of his wine, and lets out a content sigh. "Gregory, that was outstanding my darling. You are simply amazing in everything you do, including your efforts in the kitchen." He reaches across the table and takes Greg's hand, smiling at him warmly. "Thank you. Thank you for staying tonight and for taking advantage of my kitchen to prepare us this glorious meal." He lifts Greg's fingers to his lips and kisses them gently, not intending to tease like he did before. 

"Let's bring our glasses and go sit in the garden a while before dessert. It's lovely out and I know you've been itching to see it."

 

Lestrade chuckles and tips Mycroft's fingers with his own. "Nah maybe not in everything, for instance I'm a very lousy gardener and every bloody plant would die on me. That's why I haven't anything green in my flat.. " He grins. Last time, he tried with a cactus and the poor fellow endet up rather shriveled and pitty looking. That's why the man is so intrigued by Mycroft's garden. Of course the other has some staff to deal with things but basically ... well, it's just awesome anyways. And so Lestrade literally jumps to his feet when his lover makes the suggestion, and he takes the shiraz bottle carefully while Mycroft brings their glasses outside.

It's a nice summer evening, slightly dark already from the nightfall and there are several torchlights around the spacious lawn area. Lestrade stares a bit at the small domestic pond when he hears some frogs croak like this is some bloody health resort. But it's very nice, very nice indeed and it's all over with the inspector once he spots the glorious garden swing at the fare corner of the yard. "You're not serious" he mumbles a little stunned when the other takes the lead and is heading right for the seating accommodation.   
Beside the wooden bench is also a table so they can put the drinks there and have a proper seat first.   
Lestrade is literally glowing with excitement and he does a few experimental soft swings. "Hah! This is awesome. Only swing set we had in the garden back then was for the kids." Naturally, Lestrade would check out how far this one can make it, but Mycroft beside him looks a bit awkward with that despite the warm smile and so the detective gives an apologetic smirk to take it a bit more easy instead.   
They sit comfortably on the small pillows and Lestrade hands this lover his drink, before they touch glasses. "To you, and to this place. I must say, I really love it." And to be fair he could really get used to it as well. "And I love you." A soft grin as the man searches for the other's eyes. "Cheers!"

"As I love you, my darling Detective Inspector," Mycroft says with a loving smile as he taps his glass against Greg's and drapes his arm around his lover. "Cheers, love." He takes a sip of his wine and sets the glass aside, then wraps an arm around Greg, swinging gently in quiet for a few minutes. He rests his chin on his lover's head and closes his eyes, soaking in the peace and quiet of the garden and the feel of this amazing man at his side.   
Mycroft had delighted in the amazement on Greg's face at the sight of the garden. It's another part of the house he spends shamefully little time appreciating but with Greg in his life he hopes to remedy that. The garden is well manicured but natural looking and has more than enough space for Greg's children to play if they ever come to visit - something Mycroft is truly hopeful of.   
"I don't mean to be presumptive, love.... But I would very much enjoy more nights like this. Dinner at home, wine in the garden, going to bed knowing I get to see you the next morning." He speaks softly, close to Greg's ear, hugging him closer as they rock together in the swing. "Your children of course are welcome as well, when we get to that stage."   
Lestrade listens carefully while his gaze travels through the garden area, recognizing every detail about it and eventually Mycroft's words let him blink like they ring a bell. "Oh. Oh yea 'bout that." He grins. "I guess I can bring them along, if you don't mind - which you don't, I kno'." The inspector leans closer to the other, taking another sip as he lets the words sink in. Hope Susan won't freak out over the idea, he muses but what he says then is   
"I think the kiddos will love you. Billy's a bit of a brat sometimes you know, he's eight now and much like taking on the whole world... pretty much like me when I was that age..." Another sip for reminiscences' sake "And 'lil Madleine is.. she's my princess, with eyes that leave you totally helpless to say 'no' to bloody anything. Bet she'll love your stuff around.. always fancied a bit of a luxury."   
In fact, Lestrade won't ever forget the meaningful look his little daughter had given him when they visited him in his flat for the first time... something along the lines of: Oh no you're not for real, daddy. Surely Yard's hero can get something more fitting than this small... whatever 'this' is.   
And he smirks. Yea, he is quite positive that his both of his kids will approve of his new relationship.. and of Mycroft.  
Like for once, everything seems to have settled itself into the frame neatly. And if Lestrade is honest, he rather likes it that way.

Fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is it. Thank you very much for reading folks! If the ending seems a bit sudden.. thats probly because it is. The problem with roleplays is that you almost never plan a proper ending.. and sometimes things just... fade out.  
> We really hope you liked the thing anyways and cheers to the good Ship M.S Mystrade!


End file.
